


Potential

by kronette



Category: Smallville
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Kink, Minor Violence, Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt Clark’s gaze heavy upon him and looked up, ensnared by the desire flaring in the dark green eyes studying him. It was something they never discussed. Something Lex had been determined to let simmer, too afraid of ruining the only friendship he cared about. The boy whose feelings Lex could hold at bay had matured, along with his feelings. The man before him could not be so easily convinced that friendship was all Lex had to offer. What had changed? Why now, today, was Clark looking to press the issue? Ripping his gaze away from the intensity of Clark’s, he focused again on his mother’s tombstone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potential

**Author's Note:**

> This story originally appeared in the zine, "I Can't Stand to Fly". Completed December 2002 and written under my other pseud Shelley Wright.

It wasn't that Lex didn't like the holidays. He just didn't know how to enjoy them.

He was under no illusion that wealth made him different. Lionel Luthor held galas at the holidays, intended to show just how much money could buy. Lillian Luthor tempered the grotesque display with genuine warmth. Her smiles were greeted with enthusiasm, while Lionel's toasts and speeches received mere polite interest. Without her humanity to offset Lionel's overbearing presence, the renowned Luthor galas diminished in luster and popularity. Lex barely noticed the difference: he suffered through parties watching his mother across the room, and after her death, by hiding in closets to avoid his father.

Maudlin and holidays always seemed to mix, though his mother passed in the spring. Passed. Slipped away. Gone. Such pretty words for such an ugly act: Death. He rarely said it aloud, rarely talked about her with anyone. Few people were worthy enough to know about her. He kept her tucked deep inside, in a place that Lionel could not touch. He needed that. He needed to feel that some part of him, some part of his life, was free of his father's influence.

Lillian never seemed intimidated by Lionel. She questioned his motives and business decisions with brutal honesty. Without her around, Lionel became the man she tried to withhold from the world. It hurt Lex that he wasn't strong enough to continue Lillian's influence. He remembered a time when he desperately wanted to. Lionel's sorrow was stronger than any force on earth, and several acquired corporations and endless ex-employees testified to that.

Lex would turn twenty-five in three days. LexCorp had outbid LuthorCorp on sixty-five percent of the projects that each had gone after since its conception. Lionel was furious and demanding retribution in private, while extolling his son's ambition in public. The Smallville Fertilizer Plant would be sold to the employees by year's end, and he would move LexCorp to Metropolis. Lex would allow his father to learn of the schemes of his choosing, and then pull an eleventh hour buyout of LuthorCorp that would be splashed across front pages for the next month. His father would hate him.

And he would grow to hate his father in return.

He looked down at his hands folded neatly one on top of the other, then at the accumulated snow falling around him. It was the first snowfall of the winter, and he had abruptly rescheduled two meetings to keep his promise to his mother. The drive up to Metropolis through the light snowfall was the same as always: Chopin playing softly and telling no one of his plans.

Lilies were hard to come by in early November, but the florist he frequented always seemed to have some "in back" whenever he appeared. The cold would freeze them by nightfall, but he never came empty-handed. He was still the polite young boy his mother urged to try to make amends with his father, even if the father only held contempt for the son.

Were amends still possible, or would the battle for LuthorCorp drive them permanently apart? Did he still have his mother's heart and wisdom, or was he well on his way to becoming a copy of Lionel's bitter corporate mogul? He had no guide in the struggle to be his own man. He had his mother’s memory, but his father’s constant push for ruthlessness drove him further from her ideals. One shady deal overturned by another. Corporate espionage. His stubborn Luthor pride would not allow Lionel to best him, in the boardroom or out. It was a double-edged sword: the more he struggled against Lionel, the more alike they became. He looked in the mirror, and saw his father’s cold expression staring back at him. When would the day come when he couldn’t meet his eyes across the bathroom sink? When would satisfaction outweigh the shame of what he’d done in the name of success? Could he prevent that outcome, or were the wheels of fate already turning?

Icy wind bit at his face and stung his filling eyes. His hoarse whisper caught in his throat: "I don’t want to become him, but, _God_ …I don’t know how not to."

A gust of howling wind drove snow through the deserted graveyard. His eyes shut against the worst of the blast and he turned his head away from the wind. He felt a presence behind him, but finely honed survival instincts cataloged it as non-threatening. He looked up, his surprise concealed with the ease of long practice.

In better clothes than the last time he'd seen him, Clark Kent stood silent, staring thoughtfully at his tribute to Lillian. "They won't last," Clark murmured, his quiet voice deeper than Lex remembered.

"It's not important," Lex dismissed just as quiet, his mind a whirl. He and Clark had drifted apart once Clark started Metropolis University two years previous. Smallville was Lex's base of operation, and the life of a young CEO didn't lend itself well to keeping up with college friends. Friend. Lana Lang had once been a friend, but his last push to get her to notice Clark had failed spectacularly. Chloe Sullivan received and accepted a scholarship to the University of Chicago, and while they occasionally exchanged emails, it wasn't the same as bumping into her at the Talon. But Clark – Clark was different. Even though they hadn’t spoken in years, it felt like days as Lex’s gaze traversed his friend from head to toe. A vague, unsettled feeling crawled up his spine. "How did you know I was here?" he asked.

Clark casually shrugged. "I didn't. I was just walking by and noticed the car. Distinctive plates made it easy to identify the owner." He gazed over Lex's shoulder. "I haven't - you don't come here a lot."

It wasn't a question, and Lex wondered at the implications. Clark was wearing a coat, but no hat or gloves, and snow filtered thick in his dark hair. How long had Clark been watching him? Did he wander by the cemetery on occasion, hoping to find Lex there? His heartbeat quickened at the thought of being followed, even if it was Clark. His too-frequent attacks in Smallville had made him cautious, though he couldn’t stop the stray thought of perhaps Clark wanting to renew their friendship. He’d thought of it a few times over the years – more than a few if he were honest with himself. He missed their all-night conversations. He missed their comfortable silences. He missed…a lot of things that were probably best left in the past. But Clark was here, now. Did that mean Clark missed him, too? He kept his answer neutral, until he could be sure of Clark’s motives. "I come when I need to."

Eyes too quick to follow darted to the etched letters and back. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll go."

Clark turned to leave, but another gust of wind caused Lex to turn toward him. "Clark." It came without thought, but the faint hope in Clark's eyes said it was expected. "Why did you stay?" also came without thought, but seemed a logical next step.

Clark shrugged again, though not as casually as the first. "I thought maybe - you might need a friend."

He bit back his retort of, 'You're the only one,' not knowing whether he meant only Clark thought he needed friends, or that Clark was his only friend. Either answer was too painful to face today, so he offered a shrug of his own. "I could use a friend."

A faint reminiscence of Clark's full smile played at his lips as he returned to Lex's side. Lex felt an answering tug at the corner of his mouth, but it faded as he returned his gaze to Lillian's memorial. How different his life might have been, if Lillian had lived. He would have had someone on his side, someone to question Lionel’s decisions regarding his only son and heir. Someone who would say it was okay to make a mistake, or to disagree with his father. Someone who would listen to him. Someone who genuinely cared about him. Someone who put no demands on him. Realistically he knew that wasn’t a true picture of his mother, but to the boy he used to be, she would remain eternally perfect.

He felt Clark’s gaze heavy upon him and looked up, ensnared by the desire flaring in the dark green eyes studying him. It was something they never discussed. Something Lex had been determined to let simmer, too afraid of ruining the only friendship he cared about. The boy whose feelings Lex could hold at bay had matured, along with his feelings. The man before him could not be so easily convinced that friendship was all Lex had to offer. What had changed? Why now, today, was Clark looking to press the issue? Ripping his gaze away from the intensity of Clark’s, he focused again on his mother’s tombstone. His voice barely penetrated the stillness of the day. "Have you ever made a promise, but were unable to keep it? Not because you didn't want to, but because circumstances wouldn't allow it?"

Uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Clark answered, "You know I have."

Lex closed his eyes as he remembered the day Clark came to him, telling him of the big secrets of his life. How Jonathan and Martha forbade Clark from telling anyone of his alien origins, or of his abilities. The fear they had that Lex would take their son away from them, or expose him to the world. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, he thought of what Clark could do for him, and he understood their fear. He also knew he could never hurt Clark in that way. Clark had broken a promise to his parents, and Lex couldn’t betray Clark’s trust in him. The weight of Clark’s truths bore heavily on him for weeks afterward, Lex both cursing and thanking his friend for trusting him. Clark’s faith in him was beyond comprehension, and Lex felt inadequate living up to Clark’s standards. That inadequacy haunted him now, faced with revealing a truth of his own.

His mouth was dry as he related, "When I knew my mother was dying, I wasted time researching doctors and cures. What little time I spent with her wasn't nearly enough. I only half-listened to what she tried to tell me, but one thing ingrained itself on my subconscious: 'Promise me you'll be happy, Alexander'. I dismissed it at the time, but..." He took a deep breath and tamped down the emotions threatening to spill over him. "It seemed so unimportant. I had money and I was destined for power and success. Why should I have concerned myself with something intangible, when I had the world at my feet?” The wind blew softly after his question, sending a chill to his bones.

"Because she knew it was something you didn’t have."

Another quiet statement from Clark, and he turned to study the man beside him. Clark's features hadn't changed, but something in his manner; his stance spoke of knowledge well beyond his years. Clark looked like himself at that age: too aware of the real world around him. "Neither do you," Lex rejoined, not seeing a flicker of denial in Clark's eyes.

"Funny how an emotion has more meaning than any amount of money in the world," Clark said without force.

Lex found very little about the conversation funny. Clark was so in tune with what he was thinking; it was as though he could read his thoughts. A flash memory of a young boy collapsing on the castle floor was quickly banished to the nether regions of his mind. "My father never understood that emotions are passion, and passion is what drives us." He took an unsteady breath and admitted, "He wanted to rid me of emotion. He found it an unacceptable flaw."

A whispered voice ghosted past his ear, "I'd never let you become your father." Icy tendrils curled around Lex's spine, but a quick look at Clark's earnest expression revealed nothing about the comment. Did he say it, or had Lex imagined it?

In a movement too quick to see, strong hands closed around his upper arms. His natural instinct to pull away was muted. Only Clark was allowed to touch him that intimately, but Clark’s eyes were too bright; too _there_ , and he had to close his eyes. "You have passion, Lex. He didn't drive it out of you. He probably helped fuel it by trying to force it out of you." Warmth seeped through his three layers of clothing, and the stark contrast to the air surrounding them caused him to moan lightly as a tremor shook him.

"You're freezing," Clark exclaimed softly. He immediately pulled Lex to him and wrapped his arms around Lex's shivering body.

It felt as awkward as any of his father's public displays of pseudo-affection, but heat quickly spread across Lex’s chest, into it, warming him from the inside. One last full-body shake, and he felt tingling in his toes and fingers. Wool scratched against his cheek, and he was taken aback that he dropped his head to Clark's shoulder at some point. Snow swooshed against them from the side, and with only the slightest hesitation, he lifted his arms and locked a hand around his wrist, hugging Clark. Another breath, and he felt his muscles start to relax, not realizing until that moment that they were rigid.

The brim of his hat pressed against his cheek as Lex buried his face in the crook of Clark's neck. The wind lessened as Clark ducked his head, and his muffled voice asked, "Better?"

Lex murmured an affirmation. Maybe it came from all those last-minute rescues, or just the sheer solidness of him, but Clark made him feel safe. It was a different _safe_ than his money and security system provided. It was the bone-deep, sure knowledge that as long as Clark Kent was in the world, Lex Luthor would be saved from dire harm.

A hand cupped the back of his neck; thumb brushing against his ear. "You're still cold," Clark whispered. Shifting back, Clark dug into his pockets and retrieved a skull cap with "MU" emblazoned on the front. Lex watched Clark’s face as his hat was removed and the cap snugly pulled down over his head, offering no voiced protest to the act. Full lips parted slightly, breath hot and moist between them. Jade eyes alight with promise, and Lex could turn away now, could end it before it began, but found his limbs immobilized. Clark's fingers remained tucked into the folded brim, drawing him closer until their mouths met. Such a soft touch from such a strong man, and Lex found himself worshipped with lips and tongue. Without further thought, Lex opened his mind, his self, his everything, to Clark.

It was the barest of movements. The barest feel of coolness between them, and Clark’s body trembled with sickness. Comprehension dawned seconds too late, and Clark’s green eyes widened in shocked pain. Lex studied the handle of the dagger sticking out of Clark’s chest. The kryptonite-laced blade cost him plenty to make, but had proven its worth. His mark had been close to target: just `under the ribs, into the heart. Clark’s pale skin and pain-glazed eyes said he’d done internal damage. `

“Lex…” Clark gasped as he dropped to his knees and stared up at him, expression questioning why.

He stared down into the eyes filled with love, confusion and anger. He retrieved his hat from the ground where it fell, then removed and dropped the skull cap next to Clark’s now-sprawled body.

He took measured steps back to his car. His hand shook as he deactivated the alarm and slipped inside. Blocking all conscious thought, he angled the car out into traffic. Near the outskirts of Metropolis, the streets were slicker, and he lost control of a spin, sliding off the side of the road and tipping the car into several rolls.

+++

“Good evening, and welcome to the five o’clock news. Our top story today: the Luthor family. We learned only moments ago that Lex Luthor was rushed to Metropolis General with undisclosed injuries less than an hour ago. His car was discovered overturned in an embankment just south of Metropolis on State Highway 7. Police are speculating that icy conditions were the cause of the accident, and suspect no foul play at this time. We will update you with details as they come in.

“And more news on the Luthor front: a statement issued today from a LuthorCorp top executive read, quote, “’The Board of Trustees would like to go on record saying that Mr. Luthor is recovering well, and will attend the Annual Stockholder’s Meeting next week as scheduled,’” end quote. On Tuesday, a statement from LuthorCorp revealed that Lionel Luthor sustained a mild heart attack, but we received no further word until today.”

+++

“Welcome to the six o’clock news. Leading our newscast is the recovery of billionaire Lex Luthor, which doctors are describing as ‘miraculous’. The CEO of LexCorp received severe injuries in a car accident five months ago. He lapsed into a coma shortly thereafter, where he remained until this morning. No further information has been revealed at this time. We will keep you apprised of any new developments…”

Lex clicked off the TV and settled his head back into the pillow. Five months of his life wasted. Five months that his father reveled in, taking back some of the LuthorCorp lost ground. LexCorp was still strong, but not in a position to buy out LuthorCorp now, according to his analysts.

It was shitty news to wake up to. The police barely let the doctors finish examining him before they started asking questions about the accident. He remembered nothing. Not getting into his car, not why he was in Metropolis in the first place, and not why he’d rescheduled his meetings for that day. When he tried to remember, all he received was a buzzing in his head and a slightly nauseated feeling in his stomach. The doctors said he might remember, and he might not; the mind was a complicated area.

In a way, he was glad for the coma: it allowed him to miss the ugly bruising across his chest and face, and the pain of broken limbs. His right wrist had been fractured, and his left femur broken in several places. All he felt now was a mild discomfort. Aside from the upcoming physical therapy, the only memento he had of his accident was a thin scar that crossed the left side of his head. Despite the hatred simmering between father and son, Lex knew his father had paid for the best plastic surgeon in the world to minimize the visible damage. Another thin scar was worth the debt he would owe to his father.

Perfunctory flowers and well-wishes littered his room from acquaintances and business rivals. The gifts from his employees he raised to a slightly higher level, but not by much. He refused any visitors aside from his executive circle, and denied all interviews. He remained sequestered in his private room with CNN and MSNBC to keep him updated on the business world. News of his awakening boosted LexCorp stock by twenty points, surpassing LuthorCorp’s one-time high. How long it remained at that level would determine how strong LexCorp really was.

+++

LexCorp stock held at its unprecedented high for two weeks, while LuthorCorp’s stock began a steady decline. It could be a trick by Lionel; Lex witnessed a similar turn when his father’s temporary blindness restricted his involvement in LuthorCorp. But his father’s health was becoming an issue, and not just for stockholders. Lex paid well to get his father’s medical records: two mild heart attacks this year. Stress tests showed increasing concern for the weakening muscle. It didn’t surprise Lex that his father’s heart was failing him. It was the least used organ in his father’s arsenal.

His father’s recommendation of a physical therapist hardly seemed out of love. Deborah Gainsburg was ruthless, no-nonsense and had a wicked temper to match Lex’s own. If his father thought that would deter him, then Lionel was badly mistaken. She pushed Lex beyond what his body told him he was capable of. When his arms spasmed and his legs gave out, she taunted his laziness and questioned his dedication to recovery. Anger strengthened his muscles and he met her accusations with rapidly increasing weights, baby steps, and finally, walking with support crutches. Muscles screamed at him every night and silent tears wet his pillow because he refused to ask for more Vicodin to dull the pain, but he would not give in to his body’s frailty.

He cut the required seven weeks of therapy to four and a half, earning the right to leave the hospital seven months after he was admitted. He still tired easily, and his muscles gave out at random intervals, but that would get better over time. His memory had not returned, and he began to doubt it ever would.

He strode out of the hospital, flicking a stylish cane at his side as he met the plethora of media waiting to hear his first official words. He shoved the nausea down and willed his knees to keep him upright until he could get to the waiting limo. He answered a few questions, maintaining that LexCorp was in fine shape and praised his executive vice presidents for running it so smoothly in his absence. He advocated the use of seatbelts, claiming that he was proof that they do save lives. He joked about the Sharks not making the playoffs again this year, and then excused himself. Sweat glued the shirt to his skin underneath his suit coat, his sunglasses the only thing hiding the crushing pain from the reporters. Those few minutes cost him dearly, and he struggled for breath as he popped the lid off the Vicodin and swallowed two dry.

He rested his head on the back of the seat as the limo took him to the Metropolis penthouse, mentally preparing himself for the walk through the lobby to the elevators. He was grateful he paid his people well: Janice took them the long way around, through downtown and then back, giving Lex more time to gather himself. He wasn’t anywhere near 100% when he got out of the limo, but he kept the smile on his face as he crossed the lobby and nodded to the doorman who held the elevator for him. A slight shake of his head left the doorman on the first floor, and he slumped against the wall as he rode the empty elevator to the penthouse. Barely able to stand, he braced himself along the wall to his door, slid the card through the lock, and fell to his knees once inside. Tears he could no longer fight joined the agonized sounds choking in his throat. He dry heaved as sweat slicked his skin. His body’s betrayal: the one thing he could not control no matter how much power or wealth he had. When the shaking subsided and the nausea retreated, he crawled over to the couch, lay down and closed his eyes against the dizziness.

“Super man.”

His eyes snapped open and he scanned the area in front of him, not seeing anyone in the penthouse. His personal assistant wasn’t supposed to be there, per his instructions, and neither was the servant. He didn’t think he had the strength to pull himself up to check behind him. His body couldn’t even tense up in anticipation of running or fighting.

“That’s what the papers are calling you: ‘Lex Luthor: super man.’ I don’t see much that’s super about you now. I’d say pitiful is the more apt term.”

The voice triggered something in him. A forgotten memory? Risking his voice to come out less than authoritative, he demanded, “Do I know you?”

A short bark of laughter that sounded very bitter to Lex’s ears echoed against the walls. “Only too well.”

Lex didn’t sense danger from the man, though the air was filled with unsettled tension. He could make out a tall shape out of the corner of his vision. He should know this man…the familiarity was just beyond his grasp. He tried to stall, to give his mind time to figure out who was in his house. “Why the clandestine approach? Couldn’t you just make an appointment with my assistant?”

Another snort of laughter, this one tinged with something callous. “I didn't believe it when I heard you couldn't remember anything from the day of the accident. Just think; all your money couldn't save you from a pretty new scar.” The man walked into Lex’s line of sight and hunched down in front of the couch, forearms resting on thighs. “I guess you weren’t concentrating on the road, Lex.”

Green eyes. Red blood. Crunching snow under his feet as he walked away. An innocent, bold kiss. A knife cutting into skin, glowing bright green, the same color as the eyes. The images were too much: scents and colors raped him, dragging him back to that day, at his mother’s grave, the possibilities endless and impossible. “No,” Lex rasped as he shook his head in denial.

Inhumanly strong hands gripped his upper arms and dragged him to a sitting position, a hoarse cry of pain escaping him as his back muscles seized up.

“Don’t you dare look away from me,” Clark snapped. “I kissed you, and you stuck a knife through my heart. I’ve waited seven months to learn why, Lex. Don’t lie to me and say you don’t remember.”

Luthor survival instincts kicked in as he denied the truth. “I don’t! I swear,” he wheezed, feeling bones creaking under Clark’s hands, wondering which would break first. Tears ran unchecked down his face, pain of strained tendons and crushed bone overwhelmed by the pain in his chest. He couldn’t lie to Clark; he never could convincingly. Not wanting to risk further enraging him, Lex choked back a sob and stuttered, “Snow. It was snowing. You were – there. I don’t…and a green blade. Glowing. You looked up at me, confused.” He shook his head. “I don’t…know….”

He screamed as every muscle protested the rag-doll shaking his body received. “I don’t remember! God, stop, _please_ …” A ragged cry was ripped from Lex's throat as Clark shoved him backwards, toppling the couch as Lex rolled across the floor, only stopping when he crumbled against the wall. Every part of him twitched, shock waves of agony sparking along every nerve ending. It took everything in him just to force air into and out of his lungs. Footsteps drew nearer, and on his next exhalation, he whimpered, “Please.”

“There’s a word I don’t recall you ever using.” Clark’s voice was bitter, much older than memory provided. “Then again, I don’t remember you carrying around knives and stabbing your friends in the heart – literally anyway – either. Why, Lex?”

Some primal instinct tried to get him to roll away from Clark’s imposing figure, but his body just could not do it. Synapses misfired along nerves, causing mini tremors throughout his body. The sharp pain with each gasped breath probably meant broken ribs. Nausea returned with full force, bringing dizziness and failing vision. More fragments of memory slammed into him: snow filtering through dark hair. The insane need to drown himself in Clark. The heart-stopping panic that feeling brought out in him. He lifted his gaze, and through his tears, saw the shine of Clark’s in his eyes. “I was scared.”

Clark’s head tilted to the side as his eyes darkened. “You’re not scared of anything, Lex.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the hatred he could feel emanating from his former best friend. He thought not even the truth could save him, but it was worth a try. He had nothing left to lose. “I needed you too much. I never needed anyone before. I saw it in you. I felt it in you.”

He sensed Clark move closer. Protesting muscles tensed and sent another wave of dizziness through him. Thoughts were getting more difficult to hold on to, the rush of adrenaline only making his body ache more.

He winced as a hand cupped the side of his neck, and Clark’s breath whispered across his face. “Love can be more powerful than hate, but only if you allow it.”

He felt pressure against his neck, and welcome darkness slipped through his mind.

+++

Lex woke slowly, trying to identify his surroundings. Familiar sounds assaulted him first, followed by the sharp bite of disinfectant. The hospital. A move to sit up was aborted by the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. He caught his breath as pain lanced through his ribs. He shifted minutely to get comfortable, but found he couldn’t. Every part of him ached in some form. Damn his body for failing him, and damn his mind for flashing him vivid, Technicolor images of what he’d done to Clark.

He felt the upward rush stinging his eyes, unable to stop the tears from wetting his lashes, but willed himself under control before it went further. He remembered. Seeing Clark again brought it all back. The strong arms wrapped around his shivering body. The scratchiness of Clark’s wool coat. The warmth of Clark’s neck where he buried his cold nose. The bone-deep, sure knowledge that as long as Clark Kent was in the world, Lex Luthor would be saved from dire harm. That much devotion was too much for him to bear. He was used to casual affairs and sexual power games, but nothing prepared him for the onslaught of emotions that Clark’s kiss stirred in him. Caring. Protection. Possessiveness. Hunger. Desire. _Need_.

The last was his betrayer. Every instinct his father instilled in him; every warning klaxon blared what his body ignored: to need something is a weakness. Weakness must not be allowed. For one second, he allowed his father’s teachings to guide his actions. One second, and his fingers curled around the handle of the specially made dagger. The course of action settled on, it was a simple matter to slide the blade under Clark’s ribs. Clark wore a flannel shirt beneath his coat, so thin as to give no resistance. The kryptonite-iron alloy proved strong enough to penetrate Clark’s skin.

The reasons for commissioning it seemed so distant, now. It was a matter of weeks after Clark told him of his origins. Home for the first time since leaving for Met U, a shaky-voiced Clark exposed all the secrets Lex had wanted to learn for years. _Alien._ Strength. Speed. Abilities so fantastic, they belonged in the pages of _Warrior Angel_. Allowing himself to be afraid, he wanted assurance that Clark could never touch him. He conveniently forgot that Clark didn’t need strength to touch him. One penetrating look, and Lex would be lost forever.

He was lost the moment he had the dagger commissioned; he just didn’t realize it. He wanted distance even then, fearful that need and caring would destroy him. Only love wasn’t his weakness. He feared the wrong emotion. He’d almost killed his best friend because he cared too much about him. Because Clark made him care. Because Clark made him _need_.

He wasn’t supposed to live. He chose that penance for himself. He punched the gas and jerked the wheel once no cars were in sight, and his last thoughts were supposed to be of the haunted look on Clark’s face. Now that visage floated in his mind’s eye, and it would be with him the rest of his life. He stared at the ceiling and allowed the tears to flow.

The creak of a chair accompanied footsteps, and a familiar hand slipped into his. “Lex?”

Lex’s indrawn breath was too sharp to mask the whine of agony the move cost him. His muscles wanted to tighten, but the relaxers they had him on made that impossible.

He jerked his hand back, barely feeling the spike of pain in his shoulder. Clark’s sympathetic look and guilt-laden eyes were too much, shattering what was left of his control. His voice cracked as he said, “Nothing I can say will make this right. Nothing I do will ever make up for it. This will always be between us.” Pain filtered through the guilt in Clark’s eyes, and a fresh wave of horror at what he’d done rolled over Lex. “God, this is killing me. Every time I look into your eyes, I see you on your knees, pleading up at me.”

Clark’s eyes filled with tears. “And I see you curled on the floor, barely able to breathe, begging me to stop. I-I lost control. I have no excuse for what I did, and nothing I say will make up for it.”

His bandages stretched painfully as he tried to take a deep breath. “You wanted the truth. You deserved the truth.”

“I didn’t have to beat it out of you!” Clark wailed softly.

“Clark, I left you for dead,” he hissed, shame heating his cheeks as he admitted it aloud. “You have every right to exact revenge for that.”

“I didn’t want revenge, Lex!” Clark hissed, his voice at once betrayed and pained. “God, what do you take me for? I just needed to know why. Week after week, I slipped into the hospital to check on your status, waiting to see if you’d wake up. Praying you’d wake up.”

Clark had…? He tried to kill Clark, and he came to check on him? Worried about him? Fucking _prayed_ for him? How could Clark forgive him? Why would he want to? Lex closed his eyes and whispered, “You should hate me for what I did to you.”

The strong hand returned to his, and exerted enough pressure that Lex couldn’t retract it. “I don’t want to hate you, Lex. I can’t hate you.”

“Stop,” he pleaded as more tears leaked from his eyes. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

“You said you were afraid,” Clark prompted. “That you needed me too much.”

All those unacceptable emotions crashed through him in a heartbeat, leaving him breathless. He had to make Clark understand. He had to make him see. “It’s a failing,” he choked out. “Everything I saw in you, everything I allowed myself to feel, I was taught was a weakness. Emotions made you weak and should be suppressed at all costs. If I couldn’t master my emotions and my body, I was a failure. You tore through every defense I had; made me toss aside years of discipline and teachings.” He had to stop; he was getting far too close to the truth, and that he _could not_ tell Clark.

But Clark wasn’t done lecturing him. “Your father is wrong. Eliminating empathy makes you an automaton. You are no one’s puppet, Lex. You control your own destiny. You proved that the day you reopened the Smallville Plant. Emotions make you stronger. Love can be the most powerful thing in the world, if you embrace it with every part of you.” Clark squeezed his fingers. “You have every right to be happy.” 

A hiccupped sob escaped as he tried to hold back his words, but they tumbled out before he could stop them. “I _was_ happy. I was perfectly content with the way my life was going. I would have bought LuthorCorp by the end of the year, moved to Metropolis and started my new empire. I would have money and power, everything I ever wanted. I would be at the top of the world…”

He forced his eyes open and stared up into Clark’s growing concern. “Then you kissed me and stripped me bare. You made my happiness feel like shit, like it was nothing. You took everything I based my life around and made it worthless. No one has ever destroyed me so completely.” His chest hurt, not from the heavy breathing or broken ribs, but from his heart. It all rushed back: as their first kiss deepened, something awoke in Lex. Something aching and desperate and childlike that consumed him. His contentment was shattered in that single, pure instant, and he saw how empty his life was. Clark’s radiance outshined any deal he ever sealed, any business victory he ever savored. Simplicity was a kiss; happiness was the joy of discovery. His life had been wasted on the pursuit of the wrong thing. The grip on his hand went lax, and he let it fall back to the bed. He stared at it without seeing it, sure that not only had he just lost his best friend, but the potential for anything more.

Clark took a step back, shaking his head. “No. You weren’t happy, Lex. I _know_. You weren’t visiting your mother’s grave out of some sense of obligation; you were looking for guidance. You want to be as opposite of your father as you can, but you want his power and influence. You’re struggling with yourself, just like I am. Our fathers both want us to be something we’re not. We can’t let them dictate our lives, Lex.”

Clark was too damn stubborn, and he saw far too much for a man from Smallville. How could Clark know so much about Lex’s motivations, when _he_ didn’t know half the time? Except this time, Clark was wrong. “This is not about my father!” he cried hoarsely. “This is about _you_. One day, I _will_ become my father, and I won’t drag you to hell with me.”

Clark’s abrupt change in attitude had his head spinning. He was suddenly animated, eyes bright and a widening smile. “You _can’t_ turn into your father, Lex, because you already admitted to caring for me. You’ve already taken the hardest step. The remaining ones are easy.”

For a brief second, he believed Clark. Lex would never become his father, because he had enough goodness in him from his mother. Then rationality won out, and fear dug its claws into his chest as Clark moved closer to the bed. Unable to use his limbs, he verbally tried to push Clark away. “Easy? You call this easy? Clark, we tried to kill each other.”

Clark ignored his protests as he leaned over the bed. His voice dropped to a low murmur that raked across Lex’s nerves. “You already have passion, Lex. The fire that burns in you can never be extinguished.”

His voice shivered up Lex’s spine, igniting dead places inside. The fear overtook him for an instant and he tried to push his head further into the pillow, but it wouldn’t give. Clark’s eyes were too knowing; the light in them too familiar. Suddenly he wasn’t in the hospital, but outside staring up at Clark, snow falling around them as he was worshipped with lips and tongue. Fear gave way to the tiniest spark of hope, and his eyes dropped to the sinful mouth that was moving closer. He licked his lips, but his voice still cracked as he admitted, “Those I care about have always been ripped from my life. I don’t dare...”

“Love me?”

The words ghosted across Lex’s lips, and he breathed them in, letting them fill him. Clark’s eyes were enormous, shining with caring, protection, possessiveness, hunger, desire, need – and love. A soft sound of denial passed between them as Clark lowered himself the rest of the way, applying the lightest pressure against his lips.

He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let himself be this vulnerable. Then Clark gently sucked on his upper lip, his tongue thick against the corner of his mouth, and Lex heard himself groan, felt it deep inside. He parted his lips and returned the favor, slicking the edges of Clark’s teeth with his tongue. He felt the roughness of cotton beneath his palm, then the silkiness of Clark’s hair, fingers burying deep into the nape.

Raw emotion poured out of Clark into him, possessing him, leaving nothing of Lex behind. He gripped Clark’s hair, fear returning in pulsing waves, and Clark eased back to soft, reassuring kisses. Back and forth they went, Clark pressing until Lex trembled, then pulling back until the fear was assuaged.

Lex avoided Clark’s mouth one last time, fixing his gaze into the trusting green eyes. “Promise me you’ll make me happy,” he whispered, offering up his last visage of control.

“We’ll both be happy, Lex,” Clark promised, sealing it with a soul-deep, searching kiss.

+++

As the days wore on and Lex returned to his penthouse, Clark’s promise seemed a poor substitute from the life he’d chosen for himself. Every breath was excruciating, walking was a luxury, and taking care of himself almost non-existent. He relied on his assistant and servant for everything. Dependence was as foreign to him as poverty, and just as repugnant.

Clark made the suggestion of moving in, and he refused. To give up that much of his independence scared him more than anything to date. He was too arrogant to ask for help, but Clark’s promise and his own needful weakness tore at his soul.

When news that LexCorp stock took a seven point slide on the NYSE, on the heels of the news reports of his “relapse,” he gave in. Unable to handle another setback, another loss, he called Clark and invited him over.

“Bring some clothes with you,” he said, trying for nonchalance, but his pounding heart and sweaty palms told another story.

It seemed the knock on the door came seconds after he hung up the phone, and perhaps it had. Knowing Clark, he had been waiting for his call. Clark always knew him; knew his little ploys and misdirections, but accepted them as part of him without rancor. Now as Clark entered the bedroom and stared wide-eyed at him, he felt as though his soul was on display. The bag was dropped, forgotten, by the door, and in four strides, Clark was behind him in bed, strong arms wrapped around him in a comforting embrace.

The overbearing heat felt good to his sore muscles, and he groaned as Clark’s hands splayed over his chest.

“Am I hurting you?” Clark whispered in his ear.

“Feels good,” he murmured, closing his eyes and letting himself feel without thought. Tense muscles relaxed, and he found himself shifting closer to the warmth behind him. “Good,” he repeated as he drifted to sleep.

Lex took measured steps back to his car, still able to hear the painful gasps for air behind him. His hand shook as he deactivated the alarm and slipped inside. Clark’s haunted look would remain with him for the rest of his life. Forcing his mind still, he angled the BMW out into traffic. He had no route planned; only the destination. Near the outskirts of Metropolis, the streets were slicker, and he punched the gas while jerking the wheel to the right, causing the car to spin out.

“No!” he screamed, arms flailing as he tried to stop the out of control car.

“Shh, Lex! Lex, you’re dreaming.” Clark’s voice. But that was impossible. He’d killed Clark.

An aborted sob stuck in his chest. “God, I didn’t want to do it. I just couldn’t…”

“Lex, it’s all right,” Clark’s soothing voice calmed him, and he opened his eyes to his own bedroom. Clark’s arms held him tight, holding him inside his nightmare.

“Please let me go,” he said, barely able to keep his teeth from chattering. Every trace of warmth seeped out of his body as he relived his betrayal. “I didn’t think this through. It’s best if you go, Clark.”

“Lex?” Clark questioned, voice hurt and concerned.

He steadied his voice, though his body still trembled. “I’m sorry I called you over. It won’t happen again.”

“It was just a nightmare. It’s over,” Clark rationalized.

It would never be over. Lex understood that now. Instead of his death, the living nightmare was his penance for his betrayal. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Clark. Just go," he reiterated through clenched teeth.

The surrounding comfort abandoned him, and it took all his willpower not to call Clark back to his bed. He squeezed his eyes closed against the image, but still heard Clark walking toward the door, leaning down to get his bag.

Clark’s quiet voice shredded him. “You’re only making it harder on yourself, Lex. You can’t fight needing me any more than I can fight needing you. Eventually, you’ll understand that it’s a strength, not a weakness.”

He swallowed another sob; hugging a pillow tight to try to stop his body’s shaking. Everything in him screamed to call out to Clark, to accept what he was offering, but that little bit of Luthor pride he’d been unable to destroy struck at his heart: if he bowed to Clark now, he would need Clark forever.

Footsteps faded, and he heard the distant sound of the front door closing. He buried his face in the pillow and allowed himself to grieve for what might have been.

+++

He busied himself with work, diving into reports and potential acquisitions from the past few months. It was successful for a time: LexCorp needed careful supervision in its growth to multi-billion dollar company. Stock rose gradually, but never reached its one-time peak. LuthorCorp’s stock started a slow, steady decline, and Lex again set into motion his plans to buy it out. Lionel’s health was deteriorating, and rumors were that he was looking for a suitable replacement as CEO. Lex knew only a Luthor would do, and he was the only one with those qualifications. Whether his father handed control to him, or he took it by force, mattered not.

Work couldn’t distract his mind at night, though, and the nightmares continued: he was behind the wheel, aiming directly for Clark. The car flipping over, leaving him hanging upside down with no help on the way. The knife sliding into his own heart. Each one worse than the one before. Dozens of times he wished to call Clark, but that stubborn part of him would not let him finish dialing. Days, and then weeks went by, and the ache of not having Clark with him began to diminish. The nightmares tapered off, but did not stop altogether. Sleeping pills helped chase the remaining demons away.

He called again on Ms. Gainburg’s talents, and began a slower process to heal his body than the rigorous torture he’d done at the hospital. She was less hard on him as well, and after three weeks, he was able to walk steadily with a cane. Instead of his leisurely massages, he was ordered therapeutic ones for a few months, to ensure his muscles retained their pliancy. It was a small price to pay to be able to walk again under his own power.

It was the height of summer, and as he sat at breakfast one morning with the _Daily Planet_ open before him, a by-line caused his mouth to go dry. It unmistakably said Clark Kent. He scanned the article quickly, then more slowly, to absorb Clark’s words. A young girl, who turned out to be the daughter of one of LuthorCorp’s competitors, nearly drowned as she fell off a speeding yacht. Clark saw it happen from the shore, and dove in after her. The girl’s father was calling it, “An unselfish act of bravery.” Lex could almost hear the rest of the conversation: “I don’t know how he made it to her so fast. In the wake of the yacht, it should have been near impossible to find her. It was damn lucky he was there.”

Lex only remembered snatches of his own resurrection by Clark. Darkness all around him, then an insistent pressure against his lips and chest dragged his conscious to surface. The burning in his lungs as his body rejected the river water. The constriction of his heart as the painfully beautiful face stared down at him in concern. Clark’s assurance that he was not injured, and his lie that he wasn’t hit by the Porsche.

Bitter and sweet; that was his relationship with Clark. Necessary lies replaced by courageous trust. Long-stoked desire finally allowed to surface, only to be denied. Believing he could have everything he ever dared want, only to have fear push it away. An ache like no other began at the center of his being and spread outward, cloying in its thickness. He pressed a palm against his sternum, willing his breathing back under control. His shallow breaths echoed in the still penthouse, and the aloneness of the place crowded him until it was a living thing, raking across his skin, invading his lungs.

It was his nightmare in the light of day. He was drowning, only Clark wasn’t there to save him. He stumbled to his feet, scattering the tabletop’s contents across the floor. His back hit the wall, and he had nowhere else to go. He slid down the wall, hand still over his racing heart, and lost the battle with his demons. He could no longer run from himself. He no longer wanted to. The phone had fallen to the floor, and he scrabbled for it. Unable to see the numbers, his hand shaking violently, he swore and wiped his eyes. Breathing was still difficult, but he managed to punch the correct buttons and got Clark’s apartment. He laughed hysterically at his accomplishment, and listened to the phone ring and ring some more, until it sunk in that Clark wasn’t home. He stared at the phone in his hand, unable to comprehend that Clark wouldn’t be there when he needed him.

He heard clatter from the other end, and a breathless voice said, “Hello?”

It was a male voice, but not Clark’s. Hand still shaking, he raised the phone to his ear. “I – I’m looking for Clark. I need – Clark.” The words were ripped painfully from him, at once agonizing and freeing.

“I’m sorry, but Clark is at the _Daily Planet_ this morning. Can I tell him you called?”

The words were offensive; the tone equally so. Polite to a fault, he wanted to strangle whoever it was that answered Clark’s phone. He disconnected the call and flung the phone to the corner of the penthouse. He pressed his fists against his head and tried not to scream.

Several tense minutes passed with his muscles coiled tightly, finally achieving control of his rage. The anger warmed him inside, the flames beating back his weakness until he could stand.

Lex Luthor was in control of himself once again, and it was time the world knew it. Not bothering to locate the one he’d tossed, Lex went into the study and picked up that phone. He made several quick calls, determined the correct people to talk to, and in a few hours, he was successful in the purchase of the _Daily Planet_. The news would hit quickly, and he had little time to prepare himself and order the limo around front. The drive over to the _Planet_ ’s office took little time, and by some miracle, no news hounds were in front. He burst through the front doors and across the lobby to the elevators with no hesitation, feeling the hum of activity around him pause as he strode past.

His gaze flicked over the directory, locating the owner’s office on the twelfth floor. Mr. Augustine had been forewarned that Lex would be showing up, and instructed to have his Editor in Chief present for this informal meeting. The meeting itself was unnecessary; lawyers would handle the paperwork and transfer of the _Planet_ ’s assets, but Lex was known for his personal appearances at acquisitions. He would not disappoint the masses today.

The elevator stopped at the sixth floor, and he wiped all expression from his face as the doors opened onto the “bullpen.” Activity ceased in a wave from the desks nearest the elevator, to the depths of the offices, as reporters and interns caught sight of him. He saw a familiar dark head above the others, and a cold hand gripped his spine and heart together, but he kept his impartial mask in place. The doors slid shut without anyone entering the elevator, and he proceeded to his meeting without further interruptions.

“Lex Luthor for Richard Augustine,” he announced himself to the secretary outside the office.

She smiled warmly at him as she rose to her feet. “Right this way, Mr. Luthor.”

His reputation as a fair businessman proceeded him. Of the companies he acquired, less than 20% of the existing workforce had been fired, mostly middle management and money-wasting redundancy. He kept his smile demure as he was formally introduced to Augustine and Perry White, the Editor.

“It was quite a shock to get the call this morning,” Augustine began as they sat around his desk. “I was not contemplating selling the _Planet_.”

Lex settled into the well-worn leather chair and steepled his fingers. “Mr. Augustine,” he said with a quirk to his upper lip, “You misunderstood. You did not sell the _Planet_. This was a hostile takeover, and I will treat it as such.”

White slammed his hands on the arms of his chair. “You son of a bitch.”

“Perry!” Augustine snapped, and Lex could see the scenarios playing themselves out in his mind. “What are you proposing?”

He pushed the chair back and walked to the windows, hands clasped behind his back. “Tonight will be the last edition of the _Planet_. Tomorrow will be the dismissal of the staff. LexCorp will demolish this building and construct a new plaza of office spaces.” He didn’t need to turn around to see the shock on their faces.

“Why?” Augustine’s voice held steady. “The _Planet_ is the most respected paper in Metropolis, not to mention, the state. We’re sold in newsstands as far away as Chicago and Seattle. Profit is not an issue, so what is? Why the _Planet_?”

He turned around and shrugged. “Why not?”

He saw defeat in the slump of Augustine’s shoulders before it reflected in his eyes. “This was just a whim for you, wasn’t it?”

“We’re not giving up, Richard,” White hissed. “I’ve been at this paper thirty years, and I won’t see its demise.”

“You won’t have to, Mr. White. You can leave the premises at any time.” Lex darkened his tone, the threat weighing heavy. “In fact, I insist.”

White was on his feet, advancing on him. “Like hell I will.”

Lex stood his ground, eyes narrowing as White huffed in front of him. “Mr. White, do not make me call security and have you bodily removed.”

“Perry,” Augustine said quietly. “It’s not worth it.”

White turned to his former boss. “Of course it’s worth it. This is the _Planet_ we’re talking about!”

“Perry!” Augustine snapped. “Try to maintain some dignity. This paper has been well-respected for nearly a hundred years. We will not taint that respect in its last – day.” Lex saw him swallow, then seemed to gather himself. “Allow me to tell my people.”

“No,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Augustine folded his hands before him. “Mr. Luthor, you have already won. Allow me this small thing. The news – it will go better coming from me.”

He weighed his considerations. It really didn’t matter if Augustine made the announcement or not. The _Planet_ was his to do with as he pleased. “Very well. I’ll accompany you.”

Augustine rose unsteadily to his feet, but held his head high as he led them out of his office. “Doris, call a full staff meeting. Mandatory attendance in the bullpen, ASAP.”

Her polite smile vanished. “Yes sir,” she whispered, and picked up the phone.

Lex entered the elevator first, staying to the back as the doors opened a minute later on the sixth floor. He allowed Augustine and White to exit first, following at a distance.

Augustine stepped forward, and all attention fell to him. “Ladies and gentlemen. I have some news that may come as a shock to you. I have worked with some of you since they day you were interns or cub reporters. We’ve been like a family. For one hundred years, the _Planet_ has stood for truth and fairness in Metropolis. It pains me to have to say this, but…”

Lex rolled his eyes. “I bought the _Planet_ this morning,” he announced, unable to digest more of Augustine’s prattle. “This will be the last edition.”

Dead silence, then the roar was deafening. One pair of eyes stood out from the crowd, jade green and full of disappointment. That disappointment hit him like a physical blow, and he had to look away. The hand squeezed his heart tighter, nearly crushing his spine. His lips parted and a hiss of agony escaped, lost in the mayhem. He turned and punched the elevator call button, seeing no reason to stay. As the doors closed behind him, a blur entered, and a glowering Clark stood before him.

“Why, Lex?” Clark demanded.

He shrugged and offered the same answer he’d given Augustine. “Why not?”

Clark waved a hand vaguely, indicating the offices behind him. “The _Daily Planet_ is an institution, Lex. You can’t just…”

“Institutions rise and fall,” Lex interrupted. “Civilizations rise and fall. The _Planet_ was past its prime.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Clark shot back.

The heat in Clark’s voice was new, adding a depth that sent an ‘interested’ message to his dick. He shoved it aside and continued his argument, “Change is necessary for growth, Clark. This city is stifling under its own oppression. It’s time for new blood. My blood.” Clark took a step forward, but Lex held his ground, ignoring the pounding of his heart.

“The streets are going to be flowing with it,” Clark hissed. “You can’t do this, Lex. You aren’t your father.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed. “Lionel was short-sighted. He only saw his vision for himself, while I see it for the whole city. LexCorp is moving to Metropolis, and from here I will control the world.”

“You can’t even control your emotions, Lex,” Clark taunted as he pressed close, forcing Lex to take a step back. “I can hear your heart racing. I can see the sweat beginning to form. You’re scared…and you lashed out.” Understanding broke across Clark’s features, and Lex felt the wall at his back. Clark whirled and hit the emergency stop, then towered over him. “What is it, Lex? What has you scared?”

Heat poured off Clark in waves; that pink mouth too temptingly close. Lex licked his lips, knowing in that instant that he was lost as Clark’s eyes followed the movement. Arms braced themselves on either side of him, and he had no escape. He opened his mouth to lie, but knew it was a useless gesture. Clark could see through his lies, even before he let Clark inside. He drew to his full height and announced the only plausible response that might hold Clark at bay: “You can’t force me.” His voice cracked the tiniest bit, but it was enough; Clark had seen through his bravado.

A smirk that looked ridiculously out of place on Clark, but would look perfectly at home on Lex, curled the full lips. Clark leaned down, breath tickling his cheek. “I can’t force you to do anything, Lex,” Clark murmured in his ear, Lex’s eyes falling closed at the too-nearness of him.

He remained silent while Clark’s lips brushed the skin of his cheek, along his jawbone, and down the side of his neck. He couldn’t stop a sharp intake of breath as Clark’s teeth nipped the base of his throat. A murmur of approval vibrated against his skin, sending pleasure spikes in its wake. The thick mop of Clark’s hair tickled the underside of his jaw, and he dug his fingers into the fake molding of the elevator car to keep from grabbing fistfuls and dragging Clark’s mouth up to his. A bead of sweat trickled down his back as Clark hummed his way along his skin, nerves dancing with anticipation.

“You’re a very strong-willed person. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Clark whispered against the other side of his neck, a flat tongue stroking upward until it reached his ear. Nerve endings tingled with the need to touch, but with his last ounce of willpower, he refrained, splitting a nail on the wall behind him with the effort.

Clark’s scent was strong in the enclosed space; Clark’s scent, and the much stronger allure of desire. Gooseflesh prickled his skin, and he cursed the sudden desire to curl up into Clark’s heat. He no longer cared about breathing as Clark’s hair brushed against his mouth. Lips parted, and silky strands caught on his tongue, like tiny lashes on his soul. Clark filled every sense, caused every sensation sparking along his skin. A low heat began in his belly, coiling outward, building on the fire between them.

Clark’s mouth slipped along his jaw, tantalizing close to his mouth, and a soft sound escaped him as lips brushed his. “Look at me, Lex,” was murmured against his lips, and it took severe concentration to obey.

Clark’s eyes were soft as they locked with his. “My roommate called me this morning. We have Caller ID, and he said that an L. Luthor phoned this morning, and said he was looking for me. That he needed me.”

His body started to tremble. Walls he’d constructed only hours ago crumbled, and panic filled his chest. The fear and anger vanished in the confident knowledge shining from Clark’s gaze. His mouth worked, but he couldn’t force any words out. A desperate, keening sound was the only thing that escaped, but it must have said enough for Clark, because his mouth was taken with a savageness that electrified him. He gave as good as he got, teeth pulling at lips and tongues sweeping aside any further objections. Left hand in the dark tresses pulled Clark to him, his other hand grasping the firm ass. Lex got one leg around the back of Clark’s knees, holding him in place as he thrust upward, desperate to alleviate the ache that stared with the first brush of Clark’s breath on his skin. A strong arm held him securely around the waist, allowing the movement while making sure he wouldn’t fall. He felt the rough wall scrape his shoulders, and the sharp bite of Clark’s nails digging into his side. The pain only intensified what he was feeling, and he banged his head against the wall and groaned as Clark began to meet his thrusts.

He mouthed along Clark’s skin, laving with his tongue, marking with his teeth, until Clark squirmed and bucked against him. The button-down shirt was ripped open, and Lex’s fingernails unerringly scraped along the sensitized nipples. That earned a hoarse cry from Clark, and Lex felt teeth close around the flesh of his collarbone. He clutched at Clark’s shoulders, arching hard into Clark’s hip. He was already so close, weeks of denial and months of pain suddenly so pointless as he drove himself to orgasm on Clark’s thigh.

He felt his shirt tear open beneath Clark’s hand, and gasped as Clark’s mouth sucked hard at a nipple. Lex started a rubbing thrust that put as much friction on his cock as possible in its confinement. Clark picked up the rhythm, and as though they’d been doing this for years, they transitioned smoothly from short jerks of self-gratification to slow grinds of mutual pleasure. Lex’s head was buzzing, lips swollen from intense attention, and he swore he tasted blood on the back of his tongue.

Clark looked no better; eyes half-open and glazed with desire – and love. Lex met his gaze, held it as long as possible as he sealed his lips over Clark’s. He watched the lashes flutter closed, felt the power of Clark’s love through the swipe of Clark’s tongue over his. Hands gentled through Clark’s hair, holding him in place as Lex explored with renewed passion, hot and wet and right. Very, very right. When he felt Clark strain against him, when he growled harshly at the sacrilege of needed breath, he pulled back enough to utter a single hoarse word, “Yes.”

He stroked Clark’s wet cheek, brushing aside the tears coming from the tightly closed eyes. He kissed the other cheek, salt burning on his tongue. He ignored the wetness on his own lashes, content to soothe Clark for the time being.

He cradled Clark between the groove of hipbone and cock, but then felt Clark’s hand work between them. He bit his lip to stifle a moan as his zipper went down and Clark’s hand slipped inside. Their perfect rhythm was temporarily suspended as Clark brought their cocks together, flesh to flesh. Wide eyes met wide eyes at the heat of contact. Lex’s head lolled back and Clark’s dropped to his shoulder, both groaning at the sensation.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

“Yeah,” Clark answered breathlessly.

Skin slick with sweat, blood racing through his veins, body tense as a wire about to snap, brain shut completely down: Lex was lost in a haze of sensation. Instinct drove him, drove his hips, undulating into Clark’s hand as his own hand wrapped around Clark’s.

With a soft, “Oh, fuck,” Clark thrust harder.

He was painfully erect, on the edge but needing a slight push. His harsh pants became hissed cries, and tears leaked from his eyes as he stroked faster.

“Open your eyes, Lex,” Clark ordered breathlessly. “Look at me.”

He could not disobey the command, but meeting Clark’s eyes nearly undid him. Despite their situation, despite everything, he could not be that vulnerable. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed, “No.”

Clark leaned forward and devoured his mouth, leaving him desperately trying to draw air into his lungs and that much closer to completion. A hand squeezed the base of his cock, stilling his movements and bringing more tears to his eyes.

Clark’s deceptively soft voice belied the strength of his hand. “I want to see your eyes when you come.”

He shook his head, gnawing on his lower lip to stop the onslaught of emotions. “No, Clark. Please.”

Steel laced Clark’s calmly spoken words. “I won’t let you come until you look at me.”

His body was rigid with the need to come, Clark’s hand the only thing holding him back. “Fucking asshole,” he growled, pushing against Clark’s immovable shoulders. “You don’t own me and you don’t control me.”

Clark’s voice was close to his ear. “No, but I do love you.”

He felt his cock jump, sending a jolt of pain throughout his entire being. “Let me go,” he cried softly, unsure whether his body could take any more, or if he would pass out. “Please, Clark,” he begged, not caring anymore if crying made him weak. His body was edging past pain, and was heading into agony. He dropped his head to Clark’s shoulder and dug his fingers into the hard biceps. “Don’t take away my last defense,” he said, so soft that no human would have heard it.

He choked on a sob as the grip around him lessened, and Clark’s fist stroked him hard and fast. He could do nothing but hold on as orgasm overtook him, hips slamming mindlessly into Clark’s as his body convulsed. It went on forever; whole galaxies used up and reborn in that single instant that lasted an eternity. A ragged groan, then another, echoed up the elevator shaft as his drained body went limp in Clark’s arms. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” he repeated like a prayer into Clark’s shoulder.

Fine tremors still ran through his body as Clark thrust hard against him, his cock sliding along the curve of his hipbone. Orgasm hit Clark seconds later, his body shoving itself into Lex’s, pressing him further against the wall as he came with a quietness that frightened Lex: harsh breathing, a few swallowed sounds, and Lex’s name whispered reverently into his ear.

Clark sagged just a bit, and Lex managed to push himself more or less upright, removing his weight from Clark. He cupped Clark’s face with his hands, smoothing back the tousled hair from his forehead. He gazed into Clark’s eyes now, seeing exhaustion and love still shining bright. The amount of trust Clark placed in him opened something deep inside, a need so desperate Lex wondered how he lived without it until now. He leaned forward and kissed Clark desperately, frantic to touch, to taste, to mark. He kissed every part of Clark he could reach; every part that was exposed. Clark finally began returning his kisses, though with much less enthusiasm than Lex was exuding.

“Fuck, I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” he babbled as he nibbled down Clark’s neck. Clark caught his shoulders and pulled him up to meet his gaze. He saw the questions in Clark’s eyes, and answered them before they were voiced. “I trust you, Clark. I think I always have. But a part of me will always be my father’s son, and I have to fight against that every day. My defenses have been with me most of my life, and I can’t shut them off on a whim. It will take time. But I promise you, one day…”

Clark pushed him back a little. “Don’t, Lex. Don’t make a promise you aren’t sure you can keep.”

His brow furrowed, and a seed of doubt took root. “I want to do this, Clark. I want to do this for you.”

Clark shook his head. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself. When you’re ready, you’ll know. And I’ll be there.”

Doubt transformed to confusion. Post-coital was never his strongest time to think. “You’re not rejecting me?”

Clark chuckled and pulled him close, enveloping him in strong arms. “I told you before, I couldn’t hate you. The only other option is to love you.”

He returned the embrace a bit awkwardly, more to the state of their ruined clothing than any lingering hesitation. “And as I told you before, I don’t dare...”

“Love me,” Clark stated with absolute conviction.

“Right,” he answered quietly. Even now, still feeling aftershocks of orgasm in every nerve ending and the sweat still warm on his skin, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with Clark’s declaration. That the words could come so easily to Clark, but he was unable to voice them, said more to Lex than any experience shared. Even one as mind-blowing as their current one, Lex still couldn’t find the words.

He retreated mentally and prepared for the always awkward moment of separation, when the ground jerked around them. Lex’s eyes flew open as he remembered where they were. His post-coital bliss evaporated, and the drying sweat turned clammy on his skin. “Shit, the _Planet_.” He extracted himself from Clark and tried to tuck his clothes back into place. “They’re going to want to string me up.”

Clark supersped through his clothing adjustments, much to Lex’s annoyance. “You could offer a little help, you know.”

Clark flicked at his shirt, where all the buttons were missing save the last one. “You owe me a shirt, Luthor.”

Lex shifted his jacket, only to discover the rend in the shoulder of the shirt beneath it. “Touché, Kent?” he mocked with a raised eyebrow.

“At least you have a jacket to cover it up,” Clark muttered.

He looked down at his stained jacket and pants, then over at Clark’s ruined clothes. “Yeah, the jacket will cover the obvious,” he remarked dryly. “How in the hell am I going to get out of here looking like this? I have to calm down an entire building of people out for my blood.”

Clark wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “How are you planning to do that?”

He paused in the tucking of his shirt into his pants. For a second, he couldn’t remember why he wanted to buy the paper. He’d seen Clark’s by-line that morning. Something in him snapped; a mindless control he never wanted to experience again. He shuddered at the memory. “Closing the _Planet_ would be an unwise business decision. Its solid reputation is far-reaching, and I wouldn’t just be a villain; I would be my father.”

Clark’s brilliant smile quickly turned skeptical. “You’re not doing it because of me?”

He stopped fixing his clothes and took Clark’s face in his hands. He met Clark’s gaze easily. “The only thing you did was allow me time to think, and see what I was truly doing. The decision to not close the _Planet_ was my own. I assure you, you had no due influence to sway me.”

Clark’s hands slipped around his waist, rubbing sensually along the top of his ass. “No influence whatsoever?”

Against his will, his eyes closed as his head tilted back. “God, Clark, keep doing that and we’ll never get out of this elevator.” Regretfully, the hands left his body, and he was able to think mostly straight again. “How do we get out of here with no one noticing?” Clark punched the fourth floor, and then hit the emergency stop again. The car started moving, and Lex grew nervous. “Are you sure no one will be on that floor?”

“Everyone was called to the meeting on six. Four houses the copywriters. They’d have no business being on four when the commotion is on six,” Clark explained rationally.

“I hope you’re right,” Lex muttered. “Could you check first? To make sure it’s clear?” He waved at the door and raised his brows, hoping Clark understood without further clarification.

Clark chuckled again. “Worried about a little exhibitionism, Lex? I thought you’d done it all in your wild youth.”

“The reports of my wild youth are slightly exaggerated for the benefits of the still young,” he grumbled. “Exhibitionism was _not_ one of my fortes. Leather, yes. Light bondage, yes. Playing for an audience, _no_.” He realized he revealed too much when he saw the flush of Clark’s cheeks. “Forget I said that.”

Clark licked his lips, and Lex felt a painful twitch of his cock at the heated gaze directed at him. “Never.”

He swallowed hard, not quite able to reconcile Clark with the idea of ‘playtime’, when the elevator slowed. He nodded to the door. “Is it safe?” he whispered.

Clark turned to it with a sigh. “It’s a door, Lex,” he teased, but concentrated for a few seconds, then declared, “All clear.”

They exited to the fourth floor, and Clark sat down on one of the empty chairs. “So, we’re here. Now what? You still have to get out of the building, somehow.”

Lex dropped to a chair next to Clark and held his head in his hands. He felt the beginnings of a headache, and his pants were uncomfortably wet. He forced his brain to work through scenarios, trying to come up with a viable explanation for his change of heart over the paper. The truth was unacceptable, but no lie could do it justice.

An unwelcome thought popped into his head: wouldn’t his father be proud of him? The way he’d stalked into the _Planet_ ’s offices and declared to its employees their last days. The imagined delicate sniff of pride, and the possibility of a tossed out kind word, did nothing to soothe his nerves. He did _not_ want to be compared to his father. He didn’t do business like his father. Not until today, anyway. God, he’d fucked up. He sighed and relented, “I don’t know. I’ve never made such a huge mistake as this.”

His statement hung in the air, quietly mocking him, until Clark asked softly, “You’re not exaggerating, are you?”

He raised his head and rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together. “My business sense has been practically perfect since the day my father dumped me in Smallville. One rash decision, and I’ve terrified 250 people that they’re losing their jobs.”

“You could always blame kryptonite-induced fever dreams,” Clark joked lightly.

He scowled. “I will not resort to such tactics. I made this mistake, and I _will_ fix it.” He fumbled in his pockets, finally locating his cell. He dialed Augustine’s number, waiting for Doris to answer it. He instructed her to get Augustine from the meeting, and told her who was calling.

“Lex, what are you doing?” Clark hissed.

He held up a finger, shushing Clark as he heard the handset being picked up. “Mr. Augustine, before you say anything, I would like to apologize. I had no right to interfere with your speech, or to overstep my bounds in such a manner. Furthermore, I’ve gone over the annual reports for the past few years again, and I see you’ve actually increased profits at a time when other papers were folding. That sort of initiative should receive encouragement, not dismissal. So, I hereby rescind my order to close the paper.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Augustine’s tone was understandably baffled.

He allowed warmth to soften his voice as his mind raced ahead of his speech. “Richard, I’ve respected the _Planet_ for years. You’ve always been fair, reporting the facts and not just what you’re told are facts. I know it’s woefully inadequate, but I offer my sincere apologies for disrupting your staff. I’ll have my lawyers draw up new paperwork, giving you 52% control over the _Planet_ , and a rewording so that I can never make rash decisions such as this morning ever again.”

“This is Lex Luthor, isn’t it?” Augustine questioned.

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. “I know it’s insane; it’s been an insane morning. I can’t apologize enough for the trouble I’ve caused. I’ll work a five percent salary increase across the board into the budget for next year. It’s not much, but I should not have treated you or your people so crudely. You’ll have the papers by the end of the day.”

Augustine’s hesitant voice began, “Mr. Luthor…”

“You may as well call me Lex, Richard,” he cut Augustine off. “After all, I screwed you over less than an hour ago. I think we’re on slightly more intimate terms after that.”

He heard Augustine’s puff of uncertain laughter, and had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling.

“Can I ask what changed your mind? It seems rather – sudden.”

He gave a sidelong glance to Clark, who was grinning at him. “Let’s just say that when a Luthor has a bad day, whole corporations suffer for it. Thankfully, I bumped into an old friend who was in the right place at the right time.”

Clark mouthed ‘I love you,’ and Lex felt it reverberate through his entire being.

“Well, whoever it was, I owe them my thanks.”

“I’ll be sure to pass them along,” he said. He fixed Clark with a half-lidded gaze, running sensually from tousled head to wrinkled pants, admiring the view in-between. The flush along Clark’s cheeks darkened, and Lex felt the air crackle with tension.

His mind no longer on the conversation, Lex switched to a dismissive tone. “Have your lawyers go over the contracts. I don’t want any misunderstandings on either side. If something doesn’t seem fair to you, call me immediately.” He barely heard Augustine’s agreement before he disconnected the call. He leaned forward, Clark meeting him halfway in a bruising kiss.

“You are amazing,” Clark breathed against his lips.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m stupid for letting my emotional crises interfere with business,” he retorted without thought. He shoved the phone into his jacket pocket and grimaced at his sticky fingertips. He looked around, but didn’t see any tissues nearby, so with a sigh, cleaned his hand on his jacket.

Clark’s soft voice dragged him back to the ugliness of that morning. “Lex? What happened? Why did you buy the _Planet_ , and why did you want to shut it down?”

His hand froze mid-motion. The by-line. The claustrophobia of loneliness. The nightmares. Clark could know of none of it. “My father called to congratulate me on a successful round of public appearances after my ‘mishap’.” He was quoting Lionel, though his father had called over a week ago. He never told Clark about the call, so it was a partial truth. He added under his breath, “Like a five month-long coma and three broken ribs is a mishap.”

“Oh, Lex,” Clark moaned quietly, and rolled his chair closer to Lex’s.

He hated the sympathy he could feel from Clark. It made him feel more alone, and he pulled away before Clark could get his arms around him again. “I don’t need pity. What I need is to get a change of clothing.” He pulled the pants away from his skin, shuddering as the linen peeled away with a sickening tug.

“I don’t pity you, Lex.” Clark’s voice could not have been more unconvincing, but Lex let him believe his sincerity. “I just don’t understand how your father could be so…”

He leveled a steady gaze at Clark. “Unfeeling? Cold?” Years after his family shattered, and Lex could still remember his father smiling, proud of some academic accomplishment reported from Lex’s headmasters. For the first time in a long while, he questioned why Lillian died. It was so senseless. A weak heart, when she had the biggest heart of anyone he knew, except for the man across from him. Suddenly choked by the lump in his throat, he whispered, “Fate has not been kind to him, Clark.”

Clark knew his secrets. He knew about Julian, and the half-brother that wasn’t meant to be. And he knew about Lillian. Lex and his father shared each heartache. Lionel vented his pain to the world. Lex bore his pain silently.

He watched, saddened, as Clark tried to fix his bumble. “I didn’t mean…he’s still your father, Lex. No matter what’s happened between you, you’re still his son. He should…care.”

Clark would never understand his relationship with his father, no matter how many times Lex explained it. It was endearing and exasperating at the same time. In spite of his melancholy, Lex offered a wry twist of his lips. “You forget, Clark, caring implies an emotion, and my father abhors emotional outpourings of all kind, even toward his only son. He shows his concern other ways,” he said, passing a hand over his head, fingertips tracing the scar. The redness was dissipating, and in a year or two, would be nothing more than a thin white line.

He noted Clark’s confusion, but refused to elaborate further. Some things were just known, and did not need to be justified. Shifting the conversation back to the problem at hand, he asked, “So, have you thought of a plan to get me out of here?”

Clark blinked as though coming out of deep contemplation. “Me? You’re the brilliant strategist.”

“You’re the one with super powers,” Lex tossed back.

Clark pursed his lips and studied him until the pleasant tingle turned to unsettling regard. “Do you have another suit just like that?”

He looked down at his ruined beige linen suit and lavender shirt. “I should have something similar at the penthouse. Why?”

He puzzled over Clark’s decisive nod. “My apartment isn't far from here. I think I can make it there, to your penthouse, and back in a few minutes. If you hear the elevator, you can hide out in the last stall in the men’s room. It doesn’t work.”

He marveled at Clark’s simplistic plan. “You’re just going to zip past the guards downstairs? You realize that reporters will be outside, waiting to catch me at my latest acquisition. The word has to be out by now. You’ll never make it without being seen,” he said, wariness narrowing his eyes as Clark’s smile widened.

“Don’t you have faith in me, Lex? Everything will be fine.”

He watched in fascinated horror as Clark walked over to the windows, opened one, and jumped out.

“Clark!” he screamed and raced to the windowsill, shoving chairs aside in his haste. Fingers tightened on the sill, daring eyes to open and look down, and he prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in that Clark wasn’t splattered on the concrete.

“I told you to have faith, Lex,” a familiar voice teased him from above.

He tilted his head up, and an upside-down Clark grinned at him. “Asshole,” he breathed, entire body shaking with adrenaline. It took a second to catch up with him – floating? “Clark?” he said, wonder and uncertainty clouding his voice.

Clark shifted until he was facing Lex, eye to eye. “It’s okay, Lex. Just hide out in the bathroom until I get back. We should probably talk later.”

“Talk,” he murmured as he watched Clark fly - _fly_ upward, then over the top of the building toward his penthouse. He sagged against the wall, willing his heart to slow down to a normal pace. Last time he and Clark talked about his abilities, Clark was just learning to float. Now he could _fly_? How much else had changed about his friend? Lover, he corrected himself, then adjusted the term again. Not a lover; not yet, anyway. What they just shared was little more than a jack-off session between friends, but so much more lie in the possibilities. His swollen lips and the fingernail marks on his hips bore testament to that.

The headache that he thought he’d successfully banished returned, and he rubbed his head absently. He needed to regroup and think, and get his lawyers on the new contract for the _Planet_. Deciding to side with caution, he retreated to the bathroom and caught his reflection in the mirrors above the sinks. He blinked at the face staring back at him. The same features stared back, but they were twisted into something new. Some expression he wasn’t familiar with, but the fine tremors of his hands told him more than he needed to know. He splashed water on his face and cleaned himself as best he could.

The far stall had a “do not use” sign on it, so he pushed it open and grimaced at the lack of toilet seat. He was _not_ going to sit on that. His muscles began to ache – pleasantly – but still a reminder of his recent activity, not just in the elevator, but all the healing his body was still accounting for. It was too much for one day, and he would require a hot soak to alleviate the soreness. As residue of dried semen started to itch on his skin, a hot bath sounded exquisite. It was a perfect night to slip into the Jacuzzi with the jets on full blast, practically drowning himself in decadence.

With a snap of his head, he came out of his self-indulgence. He shoved his personal needs aside and focused on the business at hand. He scrolled through the phone menu until he found his lawyers’ office, then quietly began going over the changes to the buyout contract. He only had to threaten to pull LexCorp off the law firm’s client list once before his changes were agreed to. They squawked at the timeframe, but he reminded them of the handsome retainer fee they enjoyed, and again their protests were silenced. People were so predictable. Toss enough money at them, and they did whatever he wanted.

He thumbed off the phone and slid it back into his pocket, sighing as he leaned against the wall. A vein throbbed against his left temple, and a stabbing pain began behind his eye. Clark never took his offers of money or gifts. Only twice in their friendship had Clark asked him for monetary assistance, though his requests for favors reached the dozens. A little thing here, a little promise there. And he supplied it all, whatever Clark asked, only the slightest hesitation when the risk to himself more than he was comfortable with. After all was said and done, Clark’s requests benefited others. Giving the kid Ryan a few more days in this life. Sheltering a runaway from an abusive relationship. Exposing a loathsome nursing home situation. Loaning him the keys to one of Lex’s private homes for a week, no questions asked.

He knew that Clark came to him as a last resort when all other options failed. It was remarkable that Clark would even bother with alternatives, when Lex could fix most things with a phone call. But Clark had his father’s stubborn pride, and good Smallville morals to guide him. Even when Clark broke the law, he did it for good reasons. Lex couldn’t even get away with speeding without Clark giving him The Look. The fact that Lex eased up on the accelerator said a lot about who dominated their friendship. Relationship. What did they have now? Was there even a word for it?

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold tiled wall. When had he become soft around Clark? Had it always been this way? He couldn’t remember a time when he said ‘no’ to Clark. He was so eager to repay Clark for saving his life that first time, then the debt accumulated as Clark rescued him again and again. Was this love he was feeling, or guilt? Did he want to open his heart to Clark because he loved him, or because he felt Clark earned it? Was there a checklist somewhere that tallied what was done out of love, and what was done out of gratitude? He admitted to needing Clark. Was needing the same as loving? Was dependency part of love? Did he have to give up part of his life, his lifestyle, to accommodate Clark?

Angry tears slipped unbidden down his cheeks, and he scrubbed them away with the heel of his palm. When would they be even? When would he stop feeling that he needed to apologize to Clark for all the things he’d done wrong in their friendship? How could Clark be so damn _sure_ , so earnest in his declarations of love, while Lex was still struggling to classify his feelings? He couldn’t give his full heart; he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able. A wake of failed relationships attested to his wariness of that level of intimacy. He was – damaged – inside, so deep that no doctor could ever reach, nor healer ever undo. He doubted even Clark Kent could heal the wounds to his soul.

His body stiffened as the bathroom door opened, only relaxing minutely as he heard Clark’s voice whisper, “Lex?”

He unlocked the stall door and peeked out. Clark had changed clothes; the shirt wasn’t an identical match to the one he wore previously, but in all the commotion, no one was likely to notice.

Clark held out a small overnight bag. “I didn’t want to lose anything,” he explained.

Lex just nodded and took the bag back into the stall, quickly stripping off his ruined clothing. He tried to smooth the lines of the clean linen suit, but haste and necessity had crumpled it beyond hope. He grimaced slightly, but a few wrinkles were worth dry clothes against his skin. He placed his ruined clothes in the bag, zipped it up, and came out of the stall.

Clark’s face was flushed, and he wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Were you just spying on me?” he barked harshly. X-ray vision or not, Clark had no right to invade his privacy like that.

“No!” Clark hissed, flushing a deeper red. “I heard someone talking about the elevator. It was stopped for a long time, and the emergency alarm didn’t sound. They’re trying to figure out what happened. And I just remembered my shirt-buttons are still on the floor.”

His anger dissipated as quickly as it flared, and once again he found himself apologizing. “I didn’t meant to jump down your throat, Clark,” he said, allowing warmth to soften his tone. “It’s been a very odd afternoon, to say the least. My nerves are on edge.” He walked past Clark, hearing him fall into step behind him. “And I wouldn’t worry about the buttons. I’m sure they’ve had elevators stopped for non-maintenance related reasons before.”

“Lex,” Clark whined.

He turned and stared at the panicked, horrified expression. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You can have sex in an elevator, come out of it smelling like a private room at any night club in Metropolis, yet still blush when someone talks about it?”

“Talking and doing are two separate things,” Clark muttered, unable to meet his gaze.

Lex wanted to argue that point, but now was not the time for this conversation. The meeting upstairs would not last forever, and he’d pushed his luck for the next two centuries already. He walked over and pressed the call button for the elevator, feeling the heat of Clark’s gaze on him even from a distance. “I have to go, Clark. My people are waiting for me to go over the revised contract with the _Planet_ , then I have other appointments. I’ve neglected my business for too long.”

“You couldn’t help it; you were in a coma,” Clark teased, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Lex couldn’t quite return the gesture. He felt the smile start, and fail, and then turned his back to Clark. “I have to go,” he repeated.

Clark’s heat was at his back in a heartbeat, and hands settled on his shoulders. The presence was comforting and stifling. “Find time when we can talk. Any evening is fine, and I’m off on Wednesday mornings.”

He nodded sharply, not trusting himself to speak. He needed space, and with Clark’s scent filling him, he could not think clearly. The bing signaled the elevator’s arrival, and Clark stepped back. A repairman was inside with the button box open.

“Just checking things out. You’re welcome to hop on, son,” the man said, and Lex took the opportunity presented.

“Lobby,” he stated simply, clutching the bag until he felt the seams dig into his skin. He dared one last look at Clark, seeing the want clearly shining out of his gaze, and turned his head away. He sagged as the doors closed, and spent the short ride to the lobby in silence.

“It seems to be working now,” the man announced as the doors opened to another maintenance man, waiting for him. “Don’t know what went wrong.”

Lex pushed past the two men, flicking his gaze out the glass doors and seeing a group of reporters outside. He pulled his cell and ordered his driver around front, waited until he saw the sleek black limo appear, then braced himself for the barrage of questions. This session went better than his first outside the hospital. He stated his intentions for the _Daily Planet_ succinctly, side-stepped his reasons for buying it, and assured its readers that the content would not change with the new ownership. He could not be certain of any job loss until he’d done a careful review of the books, but he praised Mr. Augustine on running a fine institution. He nodded to indicate the end of the questions and then stepped into the limo. He let out a breath and slumped into the leather seat, thankful that it was over.

His father would be sure to throw a fit; he wanted to acquire the _Planet_ for years, but never had the guts to go for it. Just more proof that his father was not well, and needed to step down as CEO. The added strain on his heart could not be good for him. Lex contemplated for a full minute before phoning Lionel’s personal secretary and asking when his father would be available for dinner. He instructed her to pencil him in for the following night, and that he would send the limo around for his father around seven thirty. He could tell she wasn’t pleased, and neither would his father, but they needed to talk. They had not met face to face in over a year, and it was long overdue. A quick call alerted his chef of his plans, and they briefly worked up a menu.

The limo stopped in front of the penthouse, and he didn’t wait for the driver to open the door for him. He waved for Janice to take the limo back to the garage, and let himself into the building. The Jacuzzi was beckoning him with its promise of no demands. He dropped the bag by the door and kept walking. He slipped the jacket off his shoulders and heard it’s soft flutter to the floor, then his shirt followed. He reached the bath and turned the water on full blast, just this side of hot, and stripped off his remaining clothes. He poured himself a brandy and set it on the edge of the tub. When it was half-full, he turned the jets on full blast and settled down, sighing heavily as his body sank into the pulsing water.

What was he going to do about Clark? His father? What kind of relationship did he want to have with each of them? Did he want this to continue with Clark? Could he stop it if he wanted to? Would his father listen to reason, or would his father see his offer to help as a cutthroat measure to take over LuthorCorp?

This morning he scared himself. He’d never been out of control like that before. No, that wasn’t true. One time before, on a snowy day at his mother’s grave. Clark made him act without thinking, and it saw Lex at his most dangerous. When Lex wasn’t deliberate and methodical, he channeled his father’s business practices, and he would not allow that to happen again. Was that the only reaction he had to Clark? Was Clark the only one who could get under his skin?

What did he want from them? What did they want from him? Clark was easy enough to read, but Clark’s desires required things from Lex that he wasn’t sure he could give. Lex was positive whatever his father wanted of him, it was not the same thing that Lex wanted for himself. He had no deigns on being a godhead. He was already stretched thin with trying to run LexCorp, though in part his incapacitation for the past few months had put him behind. He would eventually catch up, and be back on track. But what track did he want to be on? He felt like he was being pulled in two directions, and he didn’t know which he should choose.

He jerked his head up and blinked water out of his eyes. His muscles were loose and he’d slipped down into the water. Shuddering at long-suppressed memories, he turned off the jets and stepped out of the tub. He secured the belt around his waist, the terrycloth robe absorbing most of the water as soon as it touched his skin. He picked up the untouched brandy and carried it into the bedroom, setting it on the nightstand. A glance at the clock showed it was after five, but he wasn’t hungry. Body still lethargic from the Jacuzzi, he lay down on top of the duvet, closing his eyes with a promise not to fall asleep.

He woke two hours later cursing himself, though he felt well-rested and more clear-headed. He put in a quick call to his lawyers and was pleased that his request had been fulfilled, and Richard Augustine now held 52% vetoing rights to the _Daily Planet_. That settled in his mind, he padded barefoot to his study and booted up the laptop. He detoured into the kitchen and raided the refrigerator, pulling together a light meal.

He spent the remainder of the night pouring over LexCorp’s financial records, tagging those divisions in the red and either marking areas for improvement or cutbacks. LexCorp had chugged along without his guidance, but the nuances only he could see slipped by his people. He just _knew_ when an area of business was past its usefulness, or when a business was ripe for acquisition. It was the gut instinct his father honed in him, a keen business sense that went beyond thought; beyond intuition.

By midnight, he’d trimmed back 3% of the overall wastefulness he’d spotted, and made the beginnings to bring that up to 8%. Two divisions were marked as possible sells, depending on what his people could tell him at the next meeting. Important emails taken care of, and a few minor quibbles between one of his unions and their plant, he decided to call it a night. As he was powering down the laptop, he remembered Clark’s plea: _Find time for me_.

It would have been a simple request three years ago, but now – he flipped through his calendar, mentally reviewing how long each activity or meeting normally took, and found Friday night open. Since his return, he’d received numerous invitations to “the social event of the year,” but he turned them all down. He had nothing to prove to anyone. He was alive and walking; no further proof was needed. And if his meeting with Clark went long, it didn’t matter. He would have the guest room made up, and Clark could stay over. He wasn’t emotionally ready to have Clark in his bed.

A deep yawn stretched his jaw muscles, and he clicked off the lights on his way to bed.

Clark’s fingers remained tucked into the folded brim of his hat, drawing him closer until their mouths met. Clark tasted poignant, as though the time had passed for this pleasure. How could it pass when it had just begun? Lex opened himself to Clark, allowed every emotion to surface; gave back everything he was given. A realm of new possibilities stretched from this moment forward.

It was the barest of movements. The barest feel of coolness between them, then heat bloomed from his chest. Heat, mutated to pain, to blinding agony. The knife whispered back out of his chest, a spray of blood following. Sound choked in his throat, eyes wide as they stared up at his best friend.

As he was lowered to the ground, a voice whispered in his ear, “I’d never let you become your father.”

His eyes flew open as he inhaled sharply, expecting to feel the agony of a knife wound in his chest. He was tangled in his sweat-drenched sheets, heart pounding in his throat, hand pressed to his chest. He stumbled out of bed into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of too many sleep-interrupted nights. Hands shook as he turned on the faucet and splashed warm water on his face. His breathing was still as erratic as his heartbeat, and he clutched the edge of the sink to steady himself. He knew better than to attempt sleep without his pills. They were the only things that kept the demons at bay, even if the demons were of his own design.

A glance at the clock showed it was just after three a.m. He searched the medicine cabinet and shook out two pills, swallowing them with a cupped palm of water. Another dependency. Legal or not, he needed these drugs. Wouldn’t his father be proud of him? Wouldn’t his mother? And what would Clark say if he told him? ‘Yeah, I’m popping pills because my guilt over trying to kill you won’t let me sleep.’ He had a business to run. He had thousands of people relying on him to make firm, competent decisions. He couldn’t do that on four hours of sleep. Feeling his eyelids growing heavy, he shuffled back to bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, hoping he wouldn’t wake before dawn.

The next morning was hell. The emails he sent out the night before obviously had not been in time to stop a union walk-out at his textile plant in western Kansas. A too-long helicopter ride out to the plant and a two hour session with the heads of the plant and union finally resolved the issue. Production would have to remain behind schedule, based on the terms both sides agreed to. He had to postpone a meeting with the head of a national electrical distributor a few hours, which barely gave him time to change clothes at the penthouse beforehand. His usual charm didn’t go over well, and he got the distinct impression that the president of the company thought him a child. His patience was on a short thread, his temper equally so. A few choice words and well-placed sarcasm assured him of never being given a chance with that company again.

Frustrated and feeling out-of-sorts, he was not looking forward to dinner with his father. He hadn’t eaten that day, and his head ached as he walked back into the penthouse. He loosened his tie and pulled it over his head, dropping it to the floor. His jacket followed the tie as he made his way down the hall to the bedroom. It was only six; he could catch an hours’ worth of desperately needed sleep before his father arrived. He carefully set the alarm and notified his servant to make sure he was up by seven. His body felt heavy as he stretched out on the bed, asleep before he knew it.

His alarm went off what felt like an instant later, and he groaned as he punched it off. He felt groggy, and his head was swimming. He dragged himself into the bathroom and filled the sink with cold water, then plunged his face into it. Gasping from the shock, he pulled his head back and shook himself awake. He dressed efficiently and went into the living room to await his father’s arrival. He avoided the wet bar, not wanting to further cloud his mind.

At seven forty-three, the door chime sounded. He felt himself slip into the mask he always wore around his father, and fought to shake it off. He succeeded partially; it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

“Father,” he greeted Lionel as his presence filled the room.

Lionel took his time scrutinizing his surroundings; Lex’s home. “A bit too modern for my taste,” his father announced, eyes finally falling to the other occupant of the room. “It suits you.”

It sounded like a compliment, and Lex chose to take it as one. “I feel at home here,” he said, indicating a seat on the couch for his father. “Did you want something to drink before dinner? Wine, perhaps?”

Lionel sank onto the leather couch like he was born to it, and shook his head. “No, thank you, son.”

Something hung unspoken in the air, and Lex’s mind searched for its cause. The answer hit him low in his gut: his father’s heart medication. Lionel couldn’t drink while he was taking it. He clenched his hand into a fist inside his pocket, not letting any emotion show in his expression. He took measured steps to his favorite chair and sat down, not as elegantly as his father, but with enough grace that nothing seemed amiss. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I invited you to dinner.”

Seeing the patented Luthor smirk lifted Lex’s spirits. “The thought occurred to me, Lex, that we hadn’t actually seen each other outside of television interviews in a very long time. Over a year, I believe.”

“Yes,” he agreed simply, wanting Lionel to set the tone for the evening.

“That’s quite a long time for a son not to see his father,” Lionel remarked quietly.

He kept his surprise hidden well. Sentimentality was not a trait that Lionel allowed to surface. “I had pressing matters that needed my full attention,” Lex answered just as quiet, not needing to say any more than that. His hand went up of its own volition and stroked lightly over the scar, Lionel’s eyes tracking the movement. He saw the anger, the worry, and the concern flicker in his father’s eyes before it was restrained, but it was enough.

“You look well,” Lionel said, voice thick despite his outward control.

He could only nod, not trusting his own voice not to shake. He stood up, went to the bar and pulled a bottle of Ty Nant. He took a long swallow before he asked, “Would you like one?”

“Please.”

As he passed the open bottle to his father, Lionel’s hand tightened around his for the briefest of moments, saying more with that gesture than he had in the past thirteen years. Lex met his father’s gaze, showing his concern and worry, and gratitude.

The moment passed, and Lex returned to his chair just as dinner was announced. They shared the meal in comfortable chit-chat, catching up on mutual acquaintances. Lionel had Lex laughing at his descriptions of some of the events he’d missed, and they commiserated over the number of new governmental hoops for large businesses.

After-dinner drinks were passed over for strong Arabian coffee and more talk.

Lionel chuckled. “I heard you had a minor tiff this morning with one of your unions. What did I always tell you? Give the workers a voice and they’ll scream from the rooftops.”

Lex smirked. “Employees who believe they have a voice tend to be more loyal and trusting. The union costs are far less than the bribes and hush money used by…other businessmen,” he said as he held his coffee cup aloft in a toast. “A bit of money up front saves thousands in the long run. Forethought,” he concluded, “has merit.”

His father rubbed his chin and studied Lex. It was an appraisal, but for the first time, he felt he came up worthwhile. “That – works for you, doesn’t it?”

He set his cup down and leaned forward. “My business plan has not changed since the plant in Smallville. Treat your employees well, and they will respect you in return. That kind of loyalty cannot be bought, and I wouldn’t want it otherwise. I have people I trust at every level. I’m comfortable leaving them in charge if I’m out of the country, or unable to…” his voice trailed off, realizing his father had grown oddly silent.

The silence grew oppressive, and Lionel could not hide his emotions from Lex’s surprised gaze. His face was pale beneath his beard, the dark gray suit making the difference more striking. Lionel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I was there when they brought you in. Blood covered every – I couldn’t see your eyes. You were in surgery most of the afternoon.” The cup rattled on the saucer, and Lionel took a sip to cover his slip. His hand was steadier when he continued. “They said you might never wake up. I told them to go to hell. You had Luthor blood running through your veins; nothing would stop you.” Lionel met his gaze then, and Lex had to bite back a gasp as he saw the tears shining in his father’s eyes. “You are strictly forbidden from ever putting me through that again.”

The rough plea cut through all the defenses Lex placed around him when dealing with his father. He had to close his eyes to stop his own tears from falling; he could not allow them to show. He would not allow them to show. Under control once again, he looked his father straight in the eye. “Yes, sir,” he promised.

His father coughed gruffly. “Good. Now that we have that settled, why don’t you tell me the reason for this dinner.”

It wasn’t said unkindly, but the abrupt shift in attitude took him a moment to adjust to. He had to choose his words carefully, lest they be taken the wrong way. “LexCorp is as strong as it’s ever been,” he began, gauging his father’s reaction. Stoic, but attentive. “I have some work ahead of me, but I will make this a viable and lasting company. I want the same for LuthorCorp.”

The sharply indrawn breath did not settle Lex’s nerves, but he continued. “We may do business differently, but I am my father’s son. I don’t want to see LuthorCorp turned over to someone who isn’t family.” He stopped there, content to let Lionel sift through the nuances and come to his own conclusions. He knew they would be the right ones. When the eyes narrowed darkly at him, he forestalled any objections. “I trust you to make the best decision for the company.”

His father pursed his lips and stared thoughtfully at the floor for a long moment. “Eloquent, just like your mother. Factual without being condescending. Confident without arrogance. The appearance of other interpretations, but leaving no doubt as to the conclusion of the evening.” Lionel stood up, and Lex stood as well, puzzled by his father’s words.

Lex felt his jaw drop open slightly as his father reached out to grasp his shoulder. “An impressive proposal, Lex. One I shall give thoughtful consideration to.” Lionel smiled without pretense and added, “It would be remiss of me to ignore the advice of the owner of the _Daily Planet_.” 

He was rendered speechless at his father’s remarks. Was his father actually proud of his acquisition? Was this Lionel’s way of congratulations? He felt a weak smile cross his lips, and cleared his throat. “Thank you, dad. You’ll have to forgive me; I wasn’t expecting…this. I tend to shy away from surprises nowadays.”

He felt pressure against his shoulder; Lionel squeezing it gently. “You are your father’s son, but you also belong to your mother. It’s good to see you’ve finally balanced the two aspects of yourself.” The slight warmth left his shoulder, and his father said goodnight on his way out of the penthouse.

He stood in numbed shock at his father’s parting words. His father was proud of him. His father had not said one unkind word all evening, and _complimented_ him – not once, but several times. Could it be possible? Instead of the son turning into the father, had the father been influenced by the son after all? Had it taken a brush with death to break through his father’s blinders when it came to Lex? Or was it Lionel’s own failing health that made him reevaluate his relationships?

He found himself at the bar with a scotch in his hand. He took a generous swallow, barely feeling the burn down his throat. The devil had a heart, and wasn’t the horned beast everyone thought he was. It was a strange ending to a hellish day, and it wasn’t even 10 p.m. yet.

“Are you all right, sir?” Suzanne, his chef, cautiously approached him.

He’d forgotten anyone was left in the penthouse. The world felt very small, confined to just this room. He wanted the feeling to last. “I’m fine. I wanted to thank you for preparing dinner on such short notice,” he said. “Oh, and if you’re available, I’ll need you Friday night as well,” he asked, not forgetting his promise to Clark.

“Of course,” she answered with a bright smile. “Would you like me to prepare a menu?”

He waved the glass toward her. “No. I’ll leave you instructions. Good night, and thanks again.”

“Good night, sir.” She nodded and turned, leaving him alone in the penthouse.

He could feel the slightly warm air circulating around him, his preferred temperature in the blazes of summer. He slipped out of his suit jacket and placed it over the back of the couch, making himself comfortable against the soft leather. The lights were still on low, but he wasn’t tired anymore. He felt energized, like he could accomplish anything, but he had nothing that he wanted. Thoughts of want slid to thoughts of Clark, and he realized with a start that he hadn’t told Clark about the plans for Friday. He quickly located his cell and punched in Clark’s number.

Several rings later, a sleepy voice said, “Lex?”

He hadn’t thought of the lateness of his call. “I woke you,” he stated the obvious. “I’m sorry, Clark.”

“No,” Clark’s voice sounded much more awake. “I was doing some research for the paper, and I guess it was a little…”

“Repetitious?” he supplied generously.

He could hear Clark’s grin over the phone. “Boring. I’m glad you called.”

The warmth he could feel from Clark’s voice, even over the phone, lightened his heart. He teased, “To save you from research hell?”

A light laugh, one that curled Lex’s toes. “That’s just a bonus. I was hoping you had a chance to think about…things.”

“I have,” he answered immediately, not wanting to drag this out longer than it needed to. “Are you free Friday night? I was thinking dinner, then my calendar is yours.”

A brief moment of silence, then Clark’s humor-filled voice asked, “Lex Luthor, are you asking me for a date?”

A swarm of butterflies took flight in his stomach, but he said with perfect calm, “Yes, I am. Is that a problem?”

He heard Clark chuckle at that. “No. Not a problem at all. Should I dress for the occasion?”

His smirk blossomed into a full-blown grin. “I don’t think chiffon will suit you. Relaxed and casual is the feel for the evening.” His heart pounding in his chest, he added, “You may want to bring an overnight bag, in case our talk goes on too late. I’ll have the spare bedroom made up.” He tried for smooth and non-committal, but an overnight bag was an overnight bag; there was little room for misinterpretation.

A few seconds of silence, and then Clark's not-quite-steady voice said, “That’s a good idea. Did you need me to bring anything for dinner?”

He ran his nails along the edge of the couch in a nervous gesture. He was already planning the menu, and couldn’t remember what Clark’s favorite beverage was. “No, I should have everything here. What time are you done at the _Planet_?”

“Usually six, unless there’s a rush edition.”

He made a mental note to tell Suzanne to have things prepared for a possible later meal. “Call me when you’re done, and I’ll have the limo sent around.”

Clark protested, “Lex, I’m not going to get picked up at the _Planet_ in a limo!”

“How else are you going to get here?” he reasoned.

Clark’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Have you forgotten my little demonstration? The reason we need to talk?”

He closed his eyes and swallowed back the bile. Watching Clark disappear out that window was heart-stopping. His heart didn’t need any more practice at that. “Right,” he forced through the lump in his throat. “Are you sure it’s safe? I mean, people haven’t…noticed?”

“Did you?” Clark countered, and he had to admit he didn’t look up often.

He relented. “Point taken. So I should expect you…?”

“If I’ll be later than 6:30, I’ll call. Is that okay?” A bit of nervous edge entered Clark’s voice, settling Lex’s own nerves.

“It’s fine. Clark,” he added softly, “We really do need to talk.”

“Yes,” Clark agreed, and his voice was steadier.

Date or no, Lex wasn’t going to put any expectations on the evening. “I’ll see you then.” He repeated Clark’s good-night, thumbed off the phone and dropped it to a cushion. He rested his head against the back of the couch and concentrated on emptying his mind. It felt good to let his mind wander, not worrying about back-stabbing plots or unreasonable demands or…anything. Last week, his penthouse was too stifling; too empty, and now it was filled with possibilities.

With a lazy smile, he readied himself for bed and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The next two days practically flew by as he deftly handled new crises, began his assessment of the _Daily Planet_ ’s financial records, dashed off a menu for Friday’s meal, and continued to manage LexCorp. It was tiring work, but he enjoyed himself, something he’d missed the past few weeks. He was looking forward to Friday night. It showed in his easy smiles to his assistant, his graceful movements through the LexCorp offices, and the nervous tapping of his fingers on his desk.

Nervous. He, Lex Luthor, was nervous about a date. A date with a man he already had sex with. It was insane. It was _Clark_. That shouldn’t make a difference, but it made all the difference in the world.

He granted himself the luxury of leaving work a half hour early in order to dress and be ready for Clark by 6:00. He changed into a light cotton pullover and khakis, after taking several extra minutes in the shower to freshen up. He ran both hands over his head, pushing back non-existent hair in a nervous gesture. The dark blue of the shirt complemented his eyes, and the cut of his pants would hide any accidental reactions to Clark. Is this what normal guys felt like on prom night? Nervous, anticipation and dread at all once?

He had instructed Suzanne to leave out the dishes and utensils, but not set the table. He wanted to do that himself; a reminder that he did have some actual part in this – date. The fork clattered against the glass tabletop, and he set it down quickly before he broke something. He put the two settings closer to each other than directly across from one another. The table wasn’t overly large, and he’d removed the centerpiece, but the atmosphere was supposed to be conducive to talking. Even across the moderately sized table could be considered intimidating.

He opened the Merlot to give it time to breathe, and to give his hands something to do. It was 6:15, and he had not heard from Clark since Wednesday night. He wiped his hands on his pants and flicked his gaze around the penthouse. Everything was orderly, as it should be, but it gave him nothing to _do_. Just when he was ready to open the laptop and scan his emails, the door chime sounded. Glancing around the living room once more, he walked to the door and after taking a breath, opened it.

A pale green cotton polo hugged Clark’s chest, tucked neatly into dark chinos, and he swore that Clark had polished his shoes before coming over. His eyes raked up the body in his doorway, finally coming to the grinning face.

“Do I rate your approval?” Clark asked teasingly.

Eyes still roving over the pull of the cotton across the broad shoulders, he uttered the brilliant comeback, “Huh?”

The chest shook with laugher. “Lex. _Lex_.” The voice was patient, but filled with mirth.

He shook his head and snapped out of wherever he’d been. “Sorry! Sorry. Come in.” He stepped aside as Clark entered, and he ordered his eyes to stay above Clark’s belt. Why was he acting like this? Granted, he always appreciated a nice body, and Clark’s was as nice as they came, but…he felt like he was back at Excelsior Prep, seeing another boy’s naked body for the first time. He left the boy he was back at Excelsior, or so he thought.

Clark stopped in the middle of the living room and looked around. “Am I late?” he asked nervously.

Hearing Clark’s nervousness put Lex at ease; at least he wasn’t alone. “Not at all. Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes. We have time for a drink if you wanted one.”

Clark shook his head and offered a brief smile. “No, thanks. Oh, before I forget.” Clark held out his hands, and Lex noticed for the first time the brightly wrapped package. “I know it’s really late, or you could consider it early, but – happy birthday.”

He blinked and held out his arms stupidly, not understanding. “Birthday?” The light package was placed in his upturned palms, and he carried it to the couch.

Clark’s voice followed him to the couch. “I’ve been thinking the past few days; about us, about how we’ve changed. Your accident.” The unspoken words hung in the air between them, thick and unwieldy. “You missed your birthday last year.”

He carefully placed the box on the couch and studied it intensely. The package had a neat, store-wrapped feel, but he knew Clark would never allow a store to wrap a present. “The day still came and went; I just wasn’t aware to celebrate,” he noted distractedly, sliding a nail under a piece of tape and popping one of the sides open. He trailed his fingernail along the top of the paper, slicing through the tape with ease. He folded back the edges to reveal a box with a single piece of tape holding it together. He snapped it easily, then stared down at the miniature scene nestled inside.

A short, rectangular clay pot, like those used for bonsai trees, rested in a sea of tissue cushioning. Small, smooth pebbles dotted the grayish sand, and he located a small rake alongside the pot. “A miniature rock garden?”

“A Zen garden,” Clark clarified, sitting on the nearby chair and leaning forward eagerly. “You can create your own little island of peace. The sand is from the shoreline east of Metropolis. The rocks are from the river where we first met.”

He had been examining the rake until that statement, and now it fell from his nerveless fingers. His eyes flicked to Clark’s, unable to look away from the intensity shining out at him. “You went back there?” he said hoarsely, his throat unbearably dry.

Clark’s features settled into a serious, determined mask. “You said we had a destiny, Lex. You said our friendship would be the stuff of legend. I know some of what my destiny will be. I found out the day we went off the bridge. My life changed, and I think yours did, too.”

“Yes,” he mouthed, though he couldn’t be sure if any sound accompanied it. His body felt like it was underwater, lungs filled, unable to take a breath. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Clark’s, something in them so much older, so alien to anything he’d seen before: it held him immobile by his soul.

Clark continued, his expression softening as he recounted, “Outside my family, you know the most about me and my abilities. I learned to control the floating about seven months after I came to Metropolis. A few weeks after that, it mutated into actual flight. I didn’t know how to tell my folks. They handled the news of my other abilities as well as can be expected, but defying gravity seemed beyond their grasp.” Clark’s features twisted into a mask of pain before they smoothed. “I don’t know if any more abilities will surface, but I’m prepared to deal with them if they do. I have my parents to thank for that, but I also have to thank you, too. Even though we haven’t spoken much the past three years, I still consider you one of my best friends, and nothing will ever change that.” His voice dropped to a chilling tenor. “Not even attempting to kill me.”

He thought he’d dealt with it. He thought he couldn’t feel worse than he already had. His previous agony was a scraped knee compared to the guilt, shame and horror that filled him now. He was surprised to hear his own rough voice say, “I relive it almost every night. I haven’t slept well in months. I close my eyes, and I dream of killing you; of you killing me.” He focused tear-filled eyes on Clark. “I don’t know how to make it stop, Clark.”

Clark’s intense gaze locked on him, and he urged softly, “Tell me about your dreams, Lex. It took me weeks to be able to accept what I’d done to you, but I had my mom’s help to get through it. Maybe you just need someone to listen to you.”

He took unsteady breaths, trying to regain some control of his trembling body. His sessions with counselors and psychiatrists after the meteor shower had told him the same thing, but hearing Clark’s admission made it easier to begin. “I hear a voice almost mocking me, saying it will never let me become my father. I think it’s you, but I’m never sure. Fear chokes me, and the knife is there, in my hand. Or you wield the knife, cutting deep into my chest. Either way, it ends in one of our deaths and me waking up in a cold sweat.” His stare intensified as his voice strengthened on his next words. “I never want to hurt you again, Clark, and I’m terrified that is exactly what I’ll do. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships. Maybe these dreams are my mind’s way of warning me away from you. Maybe it’s best if we stop now, before it gets too serious.”

Clark looked so earnest as he said, “They’re not a prediction, Lex. I realize you have a lot of trust issues; you always have. I don't expect you to be able to accept this change to our relationship right away. It will take time, but it’s time I’m willing to spend. I know you’re worth it, Lex.”

Tears filled his eyes once again as he trailed a finger along the side of the clay pot, murmuring, “You discovered your destiny on a bridge back in Smallville. I discovered mine at my mother’s gravesite.” His entire body shook, and he felt strong arms wrap around him, not allowing him to curl in on himself like his instincts wanted him to.

He allowed himself to be held, blocking out all sensations until he retained some control over his emotions. He filtered out the low, comforting buzz around his head, making out words. “I didn’t know I hurt you. I couldn’t get close to you, Lex. Every time I hit a chink in your armor, you pulled back twenty feet, emotionally distancing yourself. You looked so perfect that day, defenses down, face soft and reflective. I had to take my chance then, Lex. I didn’t know if you would ever be that open again.”

He opened his eyes, not realizing they had closed. Clark’s solid presence was beside him, warm breath tickling his neck. His hand found Clark’s by instinct, wrapped around his waist, and he laced their fingers together, marveling that they were almost a perfect fit. He shifted and Clark loosened his hold, allowing Lex to turn in his arms. Eyes still moist but no tears this time, Lex leaned forward and captured Clark’s mouth in a gentle kiss. He watched Clark’s lashes flutter, then close. He brought his free hand up to cup Clark’s jaw, stroking the flexing muscle as Clark abandoned his lips for his throat, mouthing along the exposed skin. His breath caught in his throat and he guided Clark’s mouth back to his, eager for the kiss this time, letting the first stirrings of arousal filter into the mix.

Clark’s hand squeezed his harder than normal, but he didn’t care. It was _real_. It grounded him in a way that no narcotic ever had. Clark’s tongue flicked at his, gliding between his lips in a teasing stroke that sent tingles through every nerve ending. He gripped Clark’s neck and held him there, taking his time exploring the tastes and textures of Clark Kent. A bit of mint at the corner of his mouth, probably toothpaste, not overpowering the flavors he was beginning to associate with Clark.

The strong, confident hold Clark had on him caressed a darkness deep within, a craving he denied his body for too long. Clark was his match strength for strength, confidence for confidence, trust for trust. He could let himself go, completely let go, and he knew Clark would catch him at the end. He bit Clark’s tongue, drawing a ragged groan from the younger man. He curled his hand around Clark’s and dug his nails as deeply into the flesh as he could, nearly knocked backwards at the force of Clark’s jerk.

“Lex – we should stop,” Clark gasped, even as Lex felt the vibrations of Clark’s body against his.

He tightened his grip on Clark’s neck, forcing the younger man to look at him. “This is who I am, Clark. I don’t want to hold back anything with you, and that means dealing with a side of me that no one has seen. I can let that part of me out with you, and I know you won’t take it too far. I know you won’t take advantage. I’ve never had that freedom before.” He leaned forward and worried Clark’s lower lip between his teeth, hard enough to draw blood on a human.

Another moan from Clark, and he felt himself crushed against a solid wall of chest, teeth hurting from their collide with Clark’s, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth as Clark bit and sucked at his lips. A spiral of desire curled its way down his spine and filled his cock as he tried to get his body closer to Clark’s. Clark’s arm was immovable; Lex couldn’t shift even the slightest bit, and with a full body shudder and a low sound of approval, his muscles went lax. He reveled in the shocks of pleasure Clark was sparking in him, tilting his head back further to give Clark full access to the skin he was marking with teeth and hard sucks. He felt the bones of his hand creak as Clark tightened his grip, and another shudder went through his entire being. It was the beginning of his dark fantasy, and Clark couldn’t understand, couldn’t _know_ how fucking incredible that feeling was. To have a life-long desire fulfilled, when you had no hope – no hope ever of finding the one person who could satisfy that craving…

“Harder,” he demanded, though it came out as a whisper. He squirmed as Clark’s mouth sucked at his clavicle. “God, _harder_ ,” he hissed. He stopped breathing as teeth fastened on a bit of flesh, feeling his heart thumping against his chest cavity as the exquisite agony flashed from Clark’s focal point outward. Tears filled his eyes as his body rode out the pain, absorbed it into every molecule, letting each cell enjoy the sensation to its fullest. He let out a short breath, then panted for air as the pain receded. 

He heard Clark’s voice pleading from a distance, slowly coming back to himself from whatever level of heaven he’d been on. “Lex? Lex, say something.”

He cracked his eyes open to slits, fixing Clark with his best ‘sex _now_ ’ stare, the bruise throbbing in time to the beating of his heart. “Harder,” he repeated, his voice rich and dark, feeling just how close he was to orgasm. His muscles quivered on the razor’s edge of pleasure, his cock full and straining against his pants.

“No.” Clark’s voice shook as he released Lex. “God, I didn’t mean to…”

His breath hitched as Clark’s thumb circled the mark on his shoulder, and the touch was snatched away as though burned.

“Lex, I won’t hurt you. Don’t ask me to again.” The tears might not have been on Clark’s face, but they were in his voice, and that snapped Lex out of his haze of pleasure.

“It did hurt, Clark, but you didn’t hurt me. What you did…” Even the remembered sting of the bite sent pleasure to his extremities, and he had to close his eyes and will his body under control before he could continue. “Do you have fantasies, Clark? Ones that you would never share with anyone, because they’re too dark or too disturbing?” When Clark didn’t answer, he grasped Clark’s hand and brought it up to cover the bruise. “I’ve had this fantasy since I was fifteen or sixteen. I never found anyone I could trust enough to share it with, until you. You won’t turn against me. You won’t use me. I trust this part of me with you. Can you understand that?”

Clark studied him for a long moment, jade eyes curious, confused, repulsed, and back again. “You...got off on it.”

“God, yes,” he breathed. Clark tentatively applied the slightest pressure against the wound, and Lex arched his back as he cried out softly. Blood was racing through his system, strung out on the adrenaline high and the endorphins begging to be released. “Just a little more,” he murmured. The hand was abruptly removed, and his eyes flew open at the abandonment.

“No.” The conflicting emotions were gone from Clark’s expression, replaced by confidence, teasing and power. “We’re supposed to have dinner in a few minutes, and I, for one, would actually like to sit down and talk.”

“What?” he spluttered, his body screaming for its denied release.

“Dinner, Lex,” Clark reminded him sharply, though he caught the sparkle in Clark’s eyes. “I won’t put out until I’ve at least gotten a meal out of you.”

“Clark!” he wailed, shocked and laughing and body still aching with denial. “I never knew you had a sadistic streak.”

“And I didn’t know about your masochistic streak, so we’re even.” Clark grinned at him and held out a hand. “How about we try to eat dinner without groping each other under the table?”

“Groping is _not_ what I’m worried about,” he grumbled as he stood up, stealing a quick stroke along his cock as a promise for later.

Clark took his hand, raised it to his mouth and bit a knuckle. Lex couldn’t hold back the slight moan at the sensation.

“I love the little hitch your breath gets when something makes you hot,” Clark whispered in his ear, moist, warm breath making his head spin.

Unwilling to be the only one in the room with his weaknesses already displayed, he attached his mouth to Clark’s neck, sucking and biting until he heard the ragged moans, then brought his hand between Clark’s thighs, cupping the half-hard cock and teasing it mercilessly.

“Lex, please… _God,_ ” Clark moaned, and when Lex felt the muscles tense, he let go.

He planted a quick kiss on Clark’s mouth and turned to walk away. “That game works both ways, Clark,” he called over his shoulder, unable to wipe the smirk off his face. Dinner should be very interesting.

Suzanne had brought out their meal, small serving dishes waiting to be divided between them. Lex poured himself a glass of the Merlot, Clark choosing an Amberbock to go with his steak. “I didn’t remember how you liked your steak, so I went with medium. I hope it’s all right.”

“No, Lex, this is perfect.” Clark cut into the tender meat and popped a bite into his mouth, moaning his appreciation. Teasing green eyes met narrowed blue ones. “It just melts in my mouth.”

“Steak does not melt,” he protested mildly, but had to admit it was cooked to perfection.

Clark stated calmly, “Did you know that my body temperature is three degrees higher than yours?”

He was swirling the glass of wine, and nearly spilled it at that statement. He remembered Clark’s body pressed against his, soothing his aching muscles after the accident. The heat seeping through every pore of his body as it was pressed against him in the elevator. What would that heat feel like around his dick? His dick was definitely up for that experiment, and he had to fight to not shift in his seat. The gauntlet thrown down, Lex stepped up to the challenge. “I don’t believe we’ve ever discussed our body differences before, Clark. For example, I know I look pale by your standards, but that’s probably because I don’t have any tan lines. You can’t tell that I’ve been out in the sun.”

His smirk deepened as he saw the wheels turning in Clark’s head. Eyes widened, throat worked, and a higher than normal voice asked, “No tan lines?”

He neatly speared a bite of summer squash. “Of course not. The beaches along the Mediterranean frown upon clothing,” he said offhandedly and popped the squash into his mouth. He chewed as Clark flushed and dropped the napkin to his lap.

“You tan at a nude beach.” Clark sounded as though he’d been running a marathon. “A private beach?”

He cut a small piece of steak, wrapped his lips around the fork and pulled it through with a small sound that he _saw_ affected Clark. “No, a public one. I can’t reach every part of my body to apply sunscreen. I may be flexible, but I’m not a contortionist.”

Clark started choking and drained the bottle of dark beer.

“Would you like another beer?” he asked calmly, confident he’d won this little battle of wills. The gleam in Clark’s eye brought up all his defenses, and his confidence faltered.

“Actually, I think I’d like to try some of that wine.” Clark reached across the table and took Lex’s glass. He closed his eyes, swirling the glass under his nose as he took an appreciative sniff.

Lex could just make out the tip of Clark’s tongue as the glass was brought to his mouth, watching the red liquid disappear between the equally red lips. He swallowed as Clark swallowed, following the movement with his eyes.

“You look like you want a taste.” Clark stood and walked over to him, taking a sip of the wine. His eyes widened as Clark leaned down, mouth covering his, lips opening and flavor exploding on Lex’s tongue; fruity taste of the wine, bitter tang of the beer, and Clark underlying it all. The wine spread to every corner of his mouth, and Clark’s tongue followed, leaving him breathless and glassy-eyed.

Clark’s breathing was unsteady, and color was high on his cheeks. “Musky, dark and mysterious. Nice combination, isn’t it?”

“I thought it was more dangerous and sexy,” he said as he stood up, raking his nails down Clark’s shirt. They were beyond foreplay; the evening’s activities were all but set, it was just a matter of who moved their dance to the bedroom. “Definitely full-bodied,” he continued as he licked up Clark’s throat to his ear. “With a hint of spice.”

Clark grasped his wrists and held him loosely, drawing his full attention. “Lex, aren’t you hungry?”

“Not for food,” he answered immediately, his hands eager to return to the sculpted body before him.

“Are you ready for this, Lex?” Clark asked softly.

Lex took a moment to honestly think about his answer. He knew that once they stepped into the bedroom, everything changed. It wasn’t sex; it was something more. He _wanted_ it to be something more. “Yes,” he said, allowing everything he never dared to speak aloud to inflect his voice.

Clark didn’t answer with words. He tugged gently on Lex’s wrists, drawing him closer. Lex took a step forward, chest brushing Clark’s, and tilted his head to meet Clark’s lips. It was a kiss full of promise, and Lex felt himself melting into it. Clark was unsteady on his feet as well, and Lex pulled back and let his hand curl around Clark’s.

He was not presumptuous as to have the bed turned down awaiting their arrival, so Clark got the full view of the expanse of the king bed in the center of the room. Sleek lines of the headboard blended into the wall, and it appeared to be a luxurious island in the middle of nowhere.

When Clark hesitated in the doorway, Lex brought his hands to cup Clark’s face, pulling him down for a slow, wet kiss. He knew his bed was intimidating, but it was also big and comfortable. Once he got Clark past his initial wariness, then they could just relax and feel.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as he guided Clark to the bed. His hands found their way to Clark’s shirt, smoothing down the outlined hard pecs and abdomen. He quickly untucked Clark’s shirt and slid his hands underneath, pushing the shirt up while running his hands along the warm flesh. Shirt discarded to the side, his hands returned to the chest, mapping the contours of muscle and bone, thumbs rubbing across sensitized nipples.

He felt a tugging at his own shirt, and regretfully lifted his arms to allow the shirt to be pulled over his head. He promptly forgot what he was regretting when large hands stroked up his back, cupped his neck, and pulled him close for a deep, searching kiss.

He left his hands at his sides, content to let Clark explore. He closed his eyes and simply let himself feel; be lost in the tactile sensation of being kissed by Clark. Teeth nipping gently at flesh. Mouth opened by firm lips. Agile tongue stroking its way past all Lex’s defenses. Spice of the marinade. Lingering tang of the wine. Bitter aftertaste of the dark beer. _Clark_. Familiar, sharp; _home_. 

Thumbs drew lazy circles on his cheeks with such gentleness that he felt tears sting his eyes. Never had a lover taken such care with him. This wasn’t about what Clark could get from him; this was about what Clark could give to him. No power struggle. No hidden agenda. No secrets to hide. It left him vulnerable, but for the first time in his life, it didn’t matter.

The tongue teased him gently, hands stroking down his neck to his shoulders, electric to his skin. Trails of warmth followed wherever Clark touched him, palms smoothing along the planes of his back, his chest, his arms, the hot mouth exploring his chest. Lips ghosted over the fresh bruise from earlier, drawing a ragged moan from him. He never felt so loved; so worshipped, as he did right now. It felt like every inch of skin was exposed to Clark’s ministrations.

Too soon; not soon enough, Clark’s breathing was labored and Lex’s skin was humming with the lavish attention. Clark was on his knees drawing long licks across his belly button, ignoring the erection confined in cloth just under his nose. Lex couldn’t stop himself; he reached out and buried his fingers in the thick hair, gentling; not guiding. His arousal had been slowly building, not the rush of fire that it had been earlier that evening, but it was becoming unbearable.

“Come here, Clark,” a throaty voice commanded, and he was startled to discover it was his own. Darkened eyes flicked to his, and with a wicked grin, Clark trailed his tongue up Lex’s chest as he stood, drawing a sharp gasp from Lex.

He dragged Clark the rest of the way to his mouth, tasting the sweat of his own skin on Clark’s tongue. He showed his appreciation in the rake of nails down the strong back, the dig of fingertips into flesh, the grind of his hips into Clark’s. He felt the air change around him; felt the coolness of the duvet against his back, and the weight of Clark pressing him into the bed. He quickly rolled them over, wanting his turn to touch, to taste, to sample. The crease of an elbow. The underside of a strong jaw. The smooth expanse of chest dusted with light hairs, darker than his own. Two dark pink nipples begging to be nipped. Finely honed musculature flexing beneath his welcome assault. It was laid out under him, for him, and no power on this earth was stronger than this moment.

His hands scrabbled at his belt and he shoved and kicked his pants and shoes off, needing to be rid of the offensive material. The snap of Clark’s leather belt caused him to blink and look down. The moan escaped him involuntarily as he saw the buckle twisted in Clark’s hand.

He crashed his lips down on Clark’s, his passion now beyond anything he could control. Together they cleared the remaining clothing from Clark’s body, leaving bared flesh between them. Teeth and nails and large expanses of skin and pulsing veins and stuttered gasps all converged to one single point of light, and at the last second, as he felt his balls draw up and his hipbone smack into Clark’s, he stared down into eyes locked onto his. His world imploded, the color of Kansas fields in the spring.

Exhausted through every fiber of his being, shaking arms unable to hold him up, he dropped onto Clark, sweat and semen coating their stomachs. He struggled to get a decent breath, his muscles useless. He felt lips softly kissing along his neck and shoulder, and moaned lightly.

Sex scent; _their_ scent, filled his nostrils, and he never felt more at ease. He rarely allowed this with his lovers; the chance to just lay and enjoy the afterglow. With Clark, he didn’t have to worry if he called the wrong name. If his performance would be splashed across the headlines the next day. If it were just a game. This was safe. This was comfort. This was…love.

Lassitude fought with a need to share with Clark what he was only just beginning to understand. “Clark,” he said, but it came out as a low, throaty purr.

“You taste expensive,” Clark muttered against his skin, derailing his thoughts. “Exotic.” He couldn’t hold back a shimmy against the body he was draped over at the lick to his neck. “Like aged wine.” A kiss to the scar from Club Zero caused hands to clench on the bed. “Hard and clear-cut as a diamond.” A suck to his Adam’s apple drew out a soft moan. “Beautiful.” He leaned into the light nip to his scarred lip, wanting more. “Perfect.”

Lips finally met his, but instead of relieving the ache, only intensified it. He sucked, licked, ravaged; trying to convey with actions what he could not vocalize. Dozens of phrases chased themselves through his mind; words he used to get his way in bed; to placate and silence and leave his bed partners with no regrets in the morning. He rejected them all, banishing them from his vocabulary forever.

His brain slowly melted as Clark’s hands settled on his lower back, just above the curve of his ass. He arched into the touch, hands tightening on Clark’s shoulders as he moaned into the mouth plundering his. Colors swirled behind his closed eyes as Clark’s hands slid to cup his ass and hips began gentle thrusts upward.

With one last suck, his swollen lips were released. “I want you, Lex,” Clark said breathlessly.

“You have me,” he whispered; a promise. Incredibly, he was getting hard again. He rubbed sensually against Clark, feeling Clark’s renewed erection slide along his. Clark’s eyes were dark with passion, his soft cry a symphony to Lex’s ears as they recaptured the smooth thrust and glide from the elevator.

He sucked along Clark’s jaw, mouth and tongue scraped by the rough texture of stubble. Soft sounds of encouragement, of pleading, of pleasure ghosted from between his parted lips into Clark’s ear. Hair tickled his ear and the side of his head, his stomach muscles tensing at each shift of their bodies. His legs slipped further apart as he tried to keep his balance, their cocks nestled together, his ass brushing the tops of Clark’s thighs. Clark jerked beneath him, and he gripped Clark’s upper arms to steady himself.

“It’s okay, Clark,” he murmured, understanding the raw emotion he could feel pouring off his lover. He couldn’t say it, but he felt it; felt it with every breath, every touch, every sound.

Clark drew his knees up further, tilting Lex forward to capture his mouth once again. Lex felt himself being shifted forward, felt the hard thickness of Clark’s cock slide in the cleft of his ass. He stiffened and tried to push up, to move away, to get distance between them. “No,” he hissed. Clark’s arms tried to hold him, but he shoved them aside, succeeding in sitting up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed; back facing Clark as he caught his breath.

“Lex, what’s wrong? Lex!” Clark sounded confused and angry, and rightfully so.

He closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the mattress with both hands. Once, he allowed a boyfriend to use a dildo on him. A moment of weakness; too much to drink, he didn’t remember now. Only the helplessness, the lack of control, the feeling of being impaled and split open remained with him. “Nothing,” he said, glad that his voice didn’t shake. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…tired.” He knew it was a poor excuse, and that Clark would see right through it.

“You were fine until…” Clark’s voice vanished to nothing, and Lex turned his head away. He could feel the stare on the back of his head, and the quietly asked question cut through him. “Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head mutely, not trusting his voice. Clark had been so open with him; sharing his secrets, his body and his heart, and he repaid him with old fears and kryptonite-laced steel.

Clark’s voice remained quiet, urging. “Look at me, please, Lex. If we’re going to share this bed, then we should be able to talk to each other about anything.”

Logically, he knew that Clark would never force him into anything he didn’t want. But logic never won when it came to Clark Kent. His emotions ruled, and he couldn’t control the voice that taunted him about his irrational fears. “I said it was nothing, Clark. Can’t you let it be?” His voice came out more pleading than commanding, and he felt a wash of heat on his upper chest; embarrassment coloring his skin.

The bed dipped, and then he sensed Clark’s presence in front of him. He kept his head turned away, but Clark’s determined voice would not be silenced. “No, I can’t. You’re pulling away again, protecting yourself. You’re so scared of letting me in. Do you think that by loving me, you’ll change into someone completely different? You are who you are, Lex. You won’t undergo some drastic change just because you love someone.”

His heart twisted in his chest, and he was afraid it would leap right out onto the floor from its insistent pounding. His throat felt raw as he said, “This isn’t about whether I can love you or not.”

Clark’s hand forced his head up, and his eyes opened of their own volition, staring into a self-assured gaze. “Isn’t it?” He tried to look away again, but fingers tightened on his jaw, hard enough to cause him to wince. “Loving someone is trusting someone. I know you haven’t had a lot of success with trust in your life, but I also know you have intense feelings for me. You can’t deny it; you’ve let your armor slip just enough to let me see. You’ve never met anyone patient enough, or strong enough, to want to stay through the bullshit. I want to stay. I _will_ stay.”

Tears pricked his eyes. Was this what it felt like when love shone out at you from a lover’s eyes? This aching, twisting, endless need inside? Clark’s voice was strong; far stronger than Lex had ever heard. It compelled him to answer; to find the words he couldn’t earlier. He licked his swollen lips, forcing air into his lungs. “I want you to stay,” he admitted. “I couldn’t – don’t leave.”

Clark’s soft, confident tone replied, “I’m not going to walk out of your life, Lex. You haven’t been able to shove me out, and we both know how hard you’ve tried.” The hand on his jaw relaxed, stroking gently. “I love you. I wish you could trust that; trust in me. Trust in us.”

His vision was watery and he had to blink, had to allow a few tears to roll down his cheeks. Had to unclench his hands and raise them to Clark’s hips, pull him closer, place a kiss to his stomach. Circle his arms around Clark’s waist, rest his head against Clark’s chest, and take shuddering breaths.

“I’ve never been fucked.” The words came without thought. “I let someone try; once. It – I – ” He couldn’t finish; couldn’t verbalize his humiliation. Silence pressed against him, trapping the air in his lungs until he felt Clark’s hand against the side of his neck, comforting.

“Did he hurt you?” Clark asked quietly.

His grip tightened around Clark’s waist, and he was glad that his face was hidden. “Yes,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” A hand stroked over his head, thumb brushing the newest scar reverently. “I don’t love you any less, you know.”

A hitched sob was released with what felt like a burden upon his shoulders. How could Clark’s validation still mean so much to him? The voice inside him fell silent, volume and power snatched away by Clark’s gentle caress.

“I would never fuck you.” He turned his eyes up to Clark at that, and saw the affection shining from the depths. “It would never be just a fuck with you. I care about you too much to use you like that.”

That safe feeling returned; comfort and love shining from Clark’s gaze, and he suspected from his own. Offering up his trust with an unfamiliar pang in his heart, he loosened his grip, sliding his hands up Clark’s back, drawing him down for a light, chaste kiss. “Show me,” he murmured against Clark’s mouth. Clark’s body tensed and he tried to pull back, but Lex held on, determined to follow through. Determined that Clark see he was serious, that he wanted this. That he could trust Clark with this. “What would you do, Clark?” he asked as he swiped his tongue along Clark’s collarbone. “Show me how much you love me.”

With a desperate moan, Clark fell easily into his embrace, settling his thighs between Lex’s own as they shifted backward onto the bed. Lex’s erection, which had faded what felt like a lifetime ago, began to return, as did Clark’s. Hips fitting snugly together, cocks nestled in the warmth between them. Nerves fluttered in his stomach, but he would not stop now. Clark deserved this. _They_ deserved this. His body scrambled to catch up with his mind, and he concentrated on Clark’s hands smoothing over his skin; Clark’s mouth distracting him with teeth and tongue. A hint of fear heightened his senses, making each touch that much deeper; that much richer. Clark’s tongue flicked at his, drawing him deeper into a kiss. He buried his fingers in Clark’s hair, the unfamiliar sensation of silky strands running between his fingers a personal kink. He existed inside his body; mind shut down to allow tactile input in the fullest. Breathing shallow, pulse rapid, skin damp and alive, cock heavy and pressed against Clark’s.

A voice murmured in his ear, “Do you have anything I can use?”

Barely acknowledging the question, he struggled for the correct answer. He sucked at the back of Clark’s jaw and breathed, “Nightstand.” His groan of disappointment was cut short as Clark’s weight shifted off him, only to return a second later.

A warm hand settled over his heart, and serious emerald-colored eyes searched his. “Are you sure, Lex? We don’t have to do this tonight. We don’t ever have to do this.”

That assurance; that out, buoyed his confidence. Lex reached out and laced his fingers through Clark’s, meeting his gaze steadily. “I need to do this. I need you to do this.”

Hesitation flickered in those eyes. “Lex…”

He stopped all protests with a squeeze of his hand. “I trust you.” Clark searched his face, then nodded once. He returned the nod, meeting Clark’s mouth for one last kiss. With a deep breath, he let slip the tight control he always had over his body, turning that control fully over to another, for the first him in his life.

He remembered preparing other guys. Fingers coated with lube, probing the tight entrance, breaching the ring of muscle. Feeling the clench around first one finger, then two. Knuckle-deep, then down to the second knuckle, other hand on the abdomen or back, rubbing in a soothing gesture.

His imagination proved inadequate to the actual feeling of being opened by Clark, cool gel quickly warming inside him. He stiffened, fighting against instinct to force the intruder out.

“Relax. I’ve got you. You know I’d never hurt you, Lex. I love you.”

Clark’s soft words reached something inside him, and he forced himself to relax stretching muscles. His fears were subdued by the lack of pain; feeling only an insistent pressure. A soft moan escaped as the finger left him, to be replaced by two, and he crushed Clark’s hand in a fierce grip.

“Okay?” Clark’s voice was as shaky as he felt.

He nodded, realizing then that his eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw was clenched. He blinked at the ceiling, then looked at Clark, expression intense and worried. He licked his lip and swallowed down his anxiety. “I’m okay. It’s not too bad.”

The worry lines on Clark’s face smoothed out, either at the strength of his voice, or the trust he could feel inside. Clark leaned down to place a soft kiss against the side of his mouth. “Gorgeous.” Another kiss to his jaw. “Sexy.” A lick to his earlobe, accompanied by a soft, “Love you,” left him shaking, and his deep moan filled the room.

He could sense tendrils of pleasure just beyond Clark’s fingertips. He rocked his hips minutely, changing the angle of Clark’s fingers slightly. White hot intensity sparked behind his eyes and his back snapped up in a bow, driving the fingers deeper and doubling the sensation. His cry echoed in his ears, heart thrumming in his chest, and he met Clark’s gaze wide-eyed. “That – that was…”

Clark placed a gentle kiss to his parted lips, his eyes soft with understanding. “I know.”

He squirmed on Clark’s hand, hips moving mindlessly to repeat the experience. “More. I need more, Clark.” He didn’t know what it was, didn’t care why it was a necessity, but it _was_ , and his body was screaming for it. His back arched again and his breath caught. “Please,” he groaned.

“I will; I promise,” Clark said, though the fingers left him and his muscles clasped after them, leaving him empty.

“No,” he moaned. His eyes snapped open and locked on Clark’s. “I need you _now_.” The admission charged something between them, something tangible, something welcome. His mouth was taken in a brutal kiss, teeth breaking skin, coppery tang of blood on the tip of his tongue. He curled his hand around Clark’s neck, digging his fingers deep into thick hair as he thrust back into Clark’s mouth, biting his lips, claiming and marking what was his.

Clark sucked on his lower lip as he pulled back, eyes glowing in the dim light. Lex saw movement between their tightly pressed bodies; Clark’s hand stroking along the thick cock. Lube glistened along the length, skin shone with it, and Lex slid his feet in closer to his body, opened himself more. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he watched Clark fist his own cock. He heard Clark’s moan from a distance, everything focused on the cock about to join them together.

Clark leaned forward and slipped his hands under Lex’s knees, settling them in the crook of his arms. His hands braced on either side, eyes impossibly wide, impossibly bright, and Lex could feel the head of Clark’s cock teasing along his cleft. Nerves clenched his abdominals, tiny shivers of fear prickling his skin, but seeing the trust in Clark’s eyes gave him the strength to nod, once.

A hand closed around his cock and begin to stroke, and his eyes closed for long seconds, savoring the friction along his semi-hardness. When his hips started to meet Clark’s movements, the hand slipped off his cock and slid up his stomach, his chest, to rest over his heart. He strained upward to meet Clark’s mouth in a kiss, not noticing the hand leave his chest until both of Clark’s hands gripped his hips, held him steady as Clark pushed the head of his cock inside.

His cry was muffled by Clark’s mouth, hands fisting the duvet as every muscle in his body tensed. Burning, stretching, eyes tearing up but no moisture leaked from the tightly shut lids.

Light pressure points darted across his face; Clark dancing kisses across his skin. “…Relax…I’m so sorry, Lex. You have to relax. I’m sorry. You just need to relax, and it will be okay…”

He heard Clark’s frantic pleas and tried to assimilate them into actions. He uncurled his fists and rubbed his palms on the bed, loosening his arms and neck. He tried to think; tried to form words, but he couldn’t do anything but feel.

Feel Clark.

Desire wrapped around his spine, loosening his muscles as the reality hit him. He could feel Clark inside him. Hard pulse beating rapidly along the length, stretching him. Filling him. Not like his one unsuccessful attempt. Not like anything he’d ever felt. Clark was part of him. He opened his eyes, wanting to see Clark, realizing what this meant.

The concerned, anxious expression melted off Clark’s face as their eyes locked. Lex hesitantly, minutely shifted his hips, both groaning as Clark slipped a little deeper.

Emboldened, he rocked his hips a bit more, and Clark bit off an anguished, “Lex.”

He watched Clark’s lips press together in a white line. He could see the muscles and veins standing out along Clark’s arm, leashed control – contained for him. His dark fantasy replayed itself out in his mind, and he never understood that the fuel that drove it was in this: not him taking control, but giving it. “It’s okay, Clark,” he soothed, carding his fingers through hair once more, his other hand stroking along a trembling arm. “You can let go.”

The head shook despite his hold on Clark’s hair. “I can’t.”

He saw the struggle in Clark’s eyes; the need to claim, the equal need to protect. The body, human or no, was weak, and Lex knew that Clark wouldn’t be able to control himself much longer. His voice rang heavy with assurance, “You can’t hurt me, Clark. You love me.”

Seconds fell between them with only their labored breathing breaking the silence. He saw the decision being made behind Clark’s eyes, and hissed as Clark sank deep with one thrust, balls making a slapping sound against his ass. He dug his fingers into the flesh of Clark’s arm, drawing a deep groan from his lover.

The groan was matched by Lex as Clark drew back for the first time, the abandonment instantaneous and incomprehensible. He met the thrust back in, tilting his hips to enable Clark to go deeper still. Twitches of pleasure hinted at much more, and he struggled upward to claim Clark’s mouth. Lazy, wet kisses deepened as Clark twisted his hips in a slow, agonizing move that glided along his prostate. He bucked up against Clark, every nerve ending tingling.

“God,” he gasped out, arching into the next thrust. And the next. And the next. His thighs trembled from their awkward position along Clark’s arms, his fingers deep in the flesh of Clark’s ass, urging him to move faster.

Clark seemed determined on long, drawn-out thrusts that dragged along his prostate, sending mini-quakes all over his body, pinpricks of fire along every nerve ending. He shuddered at each stroke, skin alive with feeling. It was the death he expected a year ago, second by agonizing second.

Clark was still holding back; he could see it in the strain of tendon along Clark’s neck, of the flex of pecs and biceps. “I won’t break, Clark,” he said. “You told me I’m strong; prove it. Make me feel it. Make me feel you.”

“Fuck, Lex,” Clark breathed just before claiming his mouth, tongue thick and demanding, hips now snapping against him relentlessly. His cock was trapped between them, rubbed by the washboard abs as Clark changed the angle once again. Lights flashed behind his eyes, fingers curled on flesh as his body bowed once more. Clark tapped, tapped, tapped against him, shattering his nerves. Sweat stung his eyes, his endless chants of “fuck” counterpoint to the slap of flesh on flesh. It was too good; too much; too intense. Muscles shaking, tension coiling every molecule, and still Clark slammed into his prostate, driving him higher; higher than he’d ever been. Higher than he ever thought possible. His verbal skills deteriorated to mindless groans and hitched breath.

Clark rocked above him, eyes closed, expression one of intense concentration. He couldn’t open himself more; wanted to, wanted Clark deeper, wanted him inside forever as he felt the familiar build starting. “Clark,” he gasped. “Clark!”

Green eyes snapped open, meeting his. Mouth crashed down, split his lip again, desperate and needy. Clark was on the edge too; he could taste it. He sucked Clark’s tongue into his mouth and bit it, hands clenched in the dark hair as Clark made a desperate sound.

The rush started, liquid fire in his veins as his body tensed, wanting to take Clark with him…he released Clark’s mouth and bit down on the flesh that joined neck and shoulder. An unearthly yell was torn from the recesses of Clark’s soul as his hips slammed into Lex’s.

Watching Clark’s face twist in ecstasy, body pushed to its limit, he arched back and screamed his release, voice raw and hoarse.

Slight tremors chased through his veins, limbs flung useless at his sides, Clark still nestled inside him. He never wanted to move again.

“Lex.” Clark sounded as breathless as he felt.

“Yeah,” he groaned, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

Clark pushed himself off Lex’s shoulder, fixing him with a curious, worried gaze. “Are you okay?”

He felt the corners of his mouth curling up in a smirk. He stretched his arms above his head, twisting this way and that, liking that Clark’s breath stuttered at his sensuous tease. “Fantastic. You?”

Clark’s eyes softened, as did his voice. “Damn near perfect.”

His smirk transformed into a genuine smile, and he pressed his lips to Clark’s. “Thank you,” he said, raw honesty causing an ache in his chest. “You took control, and gave it back. It’s the first time I remember anyone caring enough not to take advantage of me.”

Clark frowned, and he was mystified at what he might have said wrong. It wasn’t often he attempted to verbalize his feelings, but he thought he did fairly well. Nerves fluttered in his stomach as a thousand disastrous scenarios played themselves out; each worse than the one before.

Then everything was all right again, as Clark kissed him soundly. “You trusted me, Lex. I couldn’t take advantage of you. I love you. Trust and love go hand-in-hand.”

He felt heat on his cheeks, and his smile was a bit sheepish. Basic truths were foreign to him, just as they were natural to Clark. Clark made love sound like something everyone was born understanding. Not true in Lex’s case, but he was learning. The ‘something’ that had started back at his mother’s grave – in truth had started back in Smallville – had grown, nurtured at the back of his mind until he was ready to face it. He could feel it beneath his skin, could identify it, and would give it away when the time was right. He met Clark’s gaze squarely and replied, “So I’m learning.”

There was no urgency to their kisses now; only affection, comfort, affirmation. Simplicity was a kiss; happiness the joy of discovery. Unfortunately, his main discovery was that the skin of their stomachs was sticking together and starting to itch. With one last peck, he lowered his head to the bed and wrinkled his nose. “Clark, this is fun, but I _need_ to clean up.”

Laughing, Clark sat up, and the sickly sound that accompanied the movement caused him to laugh louder. Lex just groaned. “I think we both do, Lex.” Clark flashed him a teasing grin. “Join me?”

The simple question cut through him, evaporating any humor he felt. Too intimate, too domestic, too much for one night. He’d showered with lovers before, but this was something – more. His inner turmoil must have shown on his face, as Clark soothed, “You don’t have to, Lex. It’s okay to say ‘no’, just like I hope it’s okay if I say ‘no’ to some things you propose.”

Fingers traced the bruise along his collarbone, shivers following it their wake. He didn’t trust his voice. He nodded and swallowed as Clark’s weight lifted off him, feeling as though he was missing something. He reached out to touch, needing some tactile sensation to know he hadn’t done something wrong. His hand ran over the smooth, dry skin, a small regret that he would never see Clark’s body shining with sweat, never taste that essence off the tanned flesh.

Sweat was still cooling on his own skin, and was growing more uncomfortable by the second. Clark’s gaze was heavy on him, and he looked up. Electricity sparked between them, and intensity like he’d never experienced gazed down at him. Part of him wanted to crawl off that bed and never look back, but it was slowly being driven back by the need to face his fears, his future. He could _see_ how much Clark loved him. That he would do anything for him. That heady responsibility overwhelmed him, and he rolled out from underneath Clark.

“Lex?” Questioning; hurt.

“I’m just going to clean up.” He rose from the bed and walked toward the bedroom. He glanced back with one hand on the doorknob, the other on the jamb.

Lips swollen, hair a tangled mess, stomach coated with – God – _them_ , on his knees: Clark was the centerpiece to his bed: the picture of seduction. The only thing marring the seductive pose was the careful expression of neutrality.

“I’ll be back out in just a minute,” he promised, and the mask slipped just a bit.

Once inside the relative safety of the bathroom, he leaned heavily against the door, body and mind overwhelmed by the revelations of the day. Of his life. Had he just fallen into a relationship? Is this what he wanted? The voice inside screamed “yes,” but the practical part of his brain fought to be heard. Metropolis was not the most forward-thinking city in America. When he used to take his male dates out to dinner or a club, it was splashed across the Inquisitor headlines the next day. He paid off as many reporters as he could, but sometimes money wasn’t enough. He didn’t want that to happen with Clark. He wanted to protect Clark from that level of scrutiny by the public eye. They needed to slow down, to give themselves time to adjust to the change. He needed to prepare Clark for the upheaval his life would undergo as Lex Luthor’s male lover.

Filling the sink, he splashed water across his face, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The overall structure of his face seemed changed; lightened, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. But he did, and he would do anything to protect Clark. He grabbed a washcloth and cleaned himself up, then wet a clean one to take to Clark.

He was struck again by Clark, now lying down on the bed, obviously not watching for his return. Something inside melted, and he returned to the bed quickly, one hand braced on the mattress, the other on Clark’s abdomen, rubbing the washcloth in slow circles. He leaned over to capture full lips. “Hey. Miss me?”

“Always.” Concern flickered in the green eyes. “I thought…”

“I couldn’t very well hide out in the bathroom until you forgot about me.” He let his teasing sparkle in his eyes, and Clark laughed again and pulled him across his chest, settling him there comfortably. Lex sighed and closed his eyes, feeling at peace for the first time in his life. He ached to say the words he could feel, but knew now wasn’t the time. It was too clichéd, and Lex Luthor was anything but clichéd.

Clark’s breathing deepened and evened out, lightly dozing. Before he knew it, Lex was asleep as well.

+++

Lex’ stomach whined, dragging him to consciousness. He blinked and yawned, taking the time to assess his surroundings. His head rested against Clark’s hard, smooth back, his arm flung around an equally hard stomach. His leg was between Clark’s, his cock in the heat between their bodies. It was entirely too complacent, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was content to stay there, but urgent matters precluded comfortable lassitude.

He was careful not to wake Clark as he slid from the bed, pulling on a robe before heading into the bathroom. Immediate needs taken care of, he splashed some warm water on his face and caught his reflection in the mirror. It had not changed in the light of day from its transformation the night before. Eyes bright, color on his cheeks, expression soft, mouth curved in a genuine smile. Was this what love looked like on him?

His stomach whined again, giving him a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He padded barefoot to the kitchen, grimacing as he passed the untouched dishes on the dining table. It seemed a good idea at the time to give Suzanne the night off. He carried the plates to the kitchen and set them on the counter, staring in befuddlement around the room, looking for the trash can. He was more self-sufficient than his father, but that didn’t mean he knew where the garbage was kept.

“Pull-out drawer next to the sink,” Clark’s bemused voice called from the doorway.

He jerked around, barely able to control his reaction to Clark’s sudden appearance. Of course Clark had used his x-ray vision to locate it, and he glared at his lover before scraping the remains of dinner into the can with only a slight wrinkle of his nose.

Arms wrapped around his waist from behind. “I can see the headline now: Lex Luthor, domesticate.”

“Print that, and I won’t feed you breakfast,” he groused as he leaned back into the solid chest, already a welcome habit.

“No one would believe me anyway,” Clark murmured, lips against the side of his head.

He covered Clark’s hands with his own, turning his head just enough to kiss the corner of Clark’s mouth. “Are you implying I’m spoiled?”

Full lips curled up in a smile. “One picture could make me millions: ‘Lex Luthor’s secret life as a dishwasher.’”

He grumbled good-naturedly, though Clark’s teasing words couldn’t ruin his mood. “Give me a good reason why I should offer you any of my food?” He hissed as Clark’s hand slipped easily between the folds of his robe, rubbing fingertips across the length of his cock. “Right,” he breathed, reluctantly pulling away from Clark and flashing him a smile. “Breakfast first, then dessert.”

Clark’s smug expression only made his smile deepen. He shook his head and went in search of the waffle iron. They prepared breakfast in compatible silence, moving with an ease that spoke of years together, instead of one night. The butterflies weren’t as great as they should have been at that thought. Lex had many ‘morning after’ breakfasts, but none where he felt this – sense of home. Sense of rightness.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Clark whispered in his ear, catching him off-guard and startling him badly.

“Jesus, Clark. Warn someone when you’re going to sneak up on him like that,” he snapped, Clark’s seeming ability to read his thoughts unsettling.

Hands stroked his tense shoulders, but he couldn’t relax into them. “I’m sorry, Lex. There’s a different air about you when you’re just quiet, or when you’re thinking. Just like you always knew I was hiding something from you. Even if it’s not on a conscious level, we know each other.”

He knew it was true; that was the incredible thing. That’s what made… _this_ …so frightening. Very few people could read him, but Clark always had that ability, almost from the day they met. And he was very good at reading Clark. “Doesn’t that concern you?” he asked quietly, though he knew it didn’t. But he needed to understand how, and why.

Clark’s hands stroked down his shoulders to fold around him loosely. “It used to. I thought it had something to do with my physiology at first, and explored a few other options, but none felt right. I just knew that I _knew_ you. When I started college and we didn’t see each other on a regular basis, that’s when everything clicked. That’s when I realized I was in love with you.”

Lex missed his friend. That was his rationalization when the mansion grew too quiet without Clark’s unscheduled visits. It was at the back of his mind, but LexCorp was young and needed a strong start to make it in the corporate world. His desire for success was stronger than his desire for companionship then, but he achieved that goal. His mother only wanted him to be happy. Like puzzle pieces slowly drifting together to form the bigger picture, he saw that success was only part of the equation.

“I’m moving LexCorp Headquarters to Metropolis,” he announced, knowing it sounded like an odd response to Clark’s statement. He also knew Clark understood, because he was turned around and kissed deeply, held in a possessive grip. He returned the kiss with fervor, tangling a hand in Clark’s hair to hold him close.

“It’s a sound business move,” he continued as he nibbled down Clark’s throat. His lips followed the movement of Clark’s murmur of approval. “I’ve been working out of the penthouse for the past few months. This will be little more than a transfer on paper.”

“Very logical,” Clark agreed on a sigh. “Though the taxes are bound to be higher.”

Lex made a disapproving sound and mock-glared up at his lover. “The most important reason for moving the company to Metropolis is spending time with you.” Clark fixed him with a smirk, and he kissed it with a loud smack. “You’re insane, Clark,” he teased.

The smirk transformed to a genuine smile as Clark amended, “I’m insanely happy, Lex.”

Arms circled around him again, cocooning him in warmth and safety. He returned the hug, trying to convey the same feelings back to Clark. Weeks of misdirection, months of distance, and a year of regret couldn’t ruin this moment for him, though a very small part of him screamed to be heard. He owed Clark something; something he should have said a long time ago. He pulled back and stared up into his lover’s eyes. Heart pounding erratically, breathing just as tormented, he rasped out, “I’m sorry.” 

Luthors were not known for apologizing for anything, and he knew Clark would understand that. He poured everything he was into those simple words. He must have done it right, as Clark’s eyes filled with tears. “You did what you thought necessary to protect yourself. I forgave you already, Lex. I hope you can forgive me.”

Fingers delicately traced along the ribs that had been broken, and Lex drew in a quick breath at the touch. He captured Clark’s hand between his and kissed the knuckles. “I didn’t leave you many options to get the answers you needed. You did what you thought was necessary. Besides, I’ve already forgiven you,” he echoed Clark’s words back at him.

Arousal poured off Clark, sparking his own. He pulled Clark close, dragging their joined hands to the opening of his robe, cupping around his cock. “No more words,” he whispered.

Clark nodded his assent before leaning in for an open-mouthed kiss. Lex barely got his hand around Clark’s cock before it slipped from his grasp, belatedly realizing that Clark was slowly dropping to his knees. His hands slid along the smooth expanse of shoulders and back, nails occasionally scraping when an agile tongue flicked at a sensitive patch of skin. His groan echoed against the tiles at the teasing. He watched, fascinated, as the dark head tilted back, jade eyes locking with his for a fraction of a second before…

Heat. Heat engulfed his erection; too much, not enough, never enough. His hands fisted in Clark’s hair, unclear whether to pull Clark away or bury himself in as deeply as possible. “Fuck,” he spat as the heat started to penetrate his skin, hitting every dark place inside him, making him arch deeper. Vibrations caused his legs to tremble; a sharp cry of surprise ripped from him as Clark’s humming reached his ears.

Strong hands grasped his hips, allowing him limited movement. He writhed as Clark’s tongue traced along the vein, swirled over the head, then he sank deeper into the rainforest-like moist heat. When teeth gently closed around the tip of his cock, he screamed, Clark’s hands making sure he couldn’t move the slightest bit for fear of hurting himself. Body rigid, every nerve ending alive, and the self-satisfied gaze of the man who held him pushed him past his limit. Lips curled over teeth once again, and his eyes widened as he watched his cock disappear between reddened lips, felt the tip of his cock hit the back of Clark’s throat, then Clark swallowed.

His nails cut deeply into Clark’s shoulders as he came, hips snapping relentlessly as he emptied himself into his lover. Weak-kneed, he collapsed, only Clark’s hand at the side of his neck holding him upright. A desperate mouth covered his, and it was only by supreme battle of wills that he able to open his heavy-lidded eyes.

Clark looked desperate, hips jerking in mid-air and eyes wild. Lex unerringly located the cock tenting Clark’s boxers and started a fast rhythm. His lungs burned with the need for steady breathing, but he would not release Clark’s mouth. His tongue slipped along the palate, behind the even teeth, toying with the demanding tongue. He swallowed the small sounds filling his mouth, jacking Clark harder, sensing he was close. “I want to see you come, Clark,” he whispered. He was rewarded by a choked sound as Clark did as ordered, spilling over his hand, lax body pressing heavily into him.

They were cramped between the cabinets and the island in the middle of the room, the only sounds their labored breathing.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Clark’s soft question penetrated his hazy brain functions, and he sat up, dislodging Clark from his chest.

“Clark, you’ve got to stop worrying about hurting me. That was – fucking incredible is the best phrase I can come up with right now. My brain melted out my ears at some point.”

“I can’t help it, Lex. I know my strength, but I’m not always coherent enough to check myself during…well, sex.”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Clark, it’s _sex_. If you’re coherent, you’re not doing it right!” He sobered at Clark’s crestfallen expression. “I don’t want you feeling as though you have to hold back with me. Or at least, more than normal,” he amended, catching the fleeting look of protest in Clark’s eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to heal faster than your average human.” He pointed to the area where an ugly bruise should be forming on his shoulder from the bite the previous night, only showing a faint patch slightly darker than his skin.

He saw Clark’s hesitation and cupped his neck, thumb rubbing over the rough stubble. “It’s one thing to be cautious; another to be afraid. I never want you to be afraid with me, Clark. You want me to trust you; that goes both ways. You need to trust that I’ll tell you when it’s too much.”

Clark relaxed into his touch, features settling into their familiar congeniality. “You play dirty, Lex; throwing my own words right back at me.”

He smirked. “There’s nothing wrong with dirty, Clark, if applied in the right context.” He twisted easily into Clark’s embrace, nuzzling against the stubble of his neck. “Nothing wrong with pain, either, as long as the goal is pleasure.” He felt Clark’s body tense under him, and rubbed his free hand soothingly along a thigh. “I used to be into light bondage and leather, or have you forgotten?”

He heard Clark’s swallow, and his smirk deepened. “I’m not outrageously kinky, Clark. I just like a little fun, and a little pain to spice up the pleasure. I promise that I’ll never force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” He licked Clark’s neck, tongue catching on the stubble until he reached the prominent jaw. He nibbled his way over to the lush lips and worried the lower lip between his teeth. He grinned as he met Clark’s gaze. “I’m glad that you’re still naïve in some ways.”

His lover glowered at him. “Asshole.”

His grin mutated to a leer, and he ran his hands down Clark’s chest to his nipples. He twisted them gently, loving the sharp gasp and arch up beneath him. “It means I get to teach you,” he murmured before sealing his lips over Clark’s.

His plans for not rushing headlong into anything with Clark vanished as they spent the day absorbed in each other. They ended up sharing the shower, lingering touches more teasing than arousing. He indulged himself by running a washcloth over a slippery, wet Clark, tongue darting out to taste now and then. Clark’s hands, warmer than the water, traced every inch of his skin, mapping each shudder and gasp.

Clothing was neglected in lieu of curling up in bed, not quite making out, but close enough that it didn’t matter. Lazy kisses and slow, long strokes of hands mixed with teasing and laughter. They fed each other lunch in bed, eating more off skin than the plate. They made love again later that evening, this time Lex taking Clark. It was just as intense, only more so now that he knew what it felt like. Knew the connection from the other side. He kept it slow and gentle, his desire reined in so he could savor Clark’s reactions, memorize every gasp and shudder. Clark’s grip bruised the flesh of his ass, urging him deeper with each thrust. He angled his hips until Clark arched and cried out, then kept up a steady rhythm against his prostate. Clark’s chants of his name were counterpoint to his thrusts, Clark’s knuckles brushing his stomach as he stroked his cock.

He stopped moving as Clark came with a full body shudder, for the first time Clark yelling out his name. He buried his nose in Clark’s neck, wishing again for the salt of sweat, but the musk rising from Clark’s body was just as addictive. His orgasm overtook him then, a crest of emotion washing over him, more destructive than his body’s release. With tears wetting his eyelashes, he crushed his mouth against Clark’s, riding out the last of his climax.

They dropped to an exhausted slumber, bodies entwined.

+++

That weekend became their pattern for weeks to come, occasionally going out to dinner or a club when a major society event took place so the paparazzi would be mostly occupied elsewhere. Lex knew his penthouse was staked out by the Inquisitor, hoping to catch a glimpse of him since his self-imposed “exile,” as they liked to call it. If they saw him with Clark, it might be disastrous to Clark’s career, and he promised himself that if Clark wanted to out himself, it would be on his terms. To his knowledge, Clark hadn’t made a big deal of his sexuality or his private life, understandable with the secret Clark had to hide. He would protect Clark’s decision, and Clark, until he received a signal otherwise.

He noticed Clark’s discomfort several Saturday’s later, when they were preparing to go out to one of Lex’s favorite clubs, Jackhammer. His lover was subdued, giving monosyllables to Lex’s questions. He stopped getting ready and took Clark by the shoulders. “Clark, what’s bothering you?”

Clark was unable to avoid his gaze. He winced at the sorrow he saw reflected. “Are you ashamed of me, Lex?”

“You’ve been wondering why we don’t go out every weekend.” It was a statement, because he could read the question in Clark’s expression.

The sorrow in Clark’s eyes trickled down to his voice. “I’m not stupid, Lex. You only want to go out when there’s some big happening in Metropolis, but we don’t go to it. Tonight it’s the dedication of the new wing of the library. I need to know why.”

He rubbed down Clark’s upper arms until he laced their fingers together, squeezing Clark’s hands tightly. “First of all, I am not and have never been ashamed of you. I wanted to protect you as long as possible from the press. Once it gets out that we’re dating, your life goes under the microscope. I wasn’t going to let them dictate when or if you wanted to give an explanation. I wanted the decision to be yours.”

Clark returned the pressure on his hands. “I’m part of the press, Lex. I understand how the game works. I also know you haven’t been seen at a public function for over a year. Rumors are circulating that you’ve become a recluse. I don’t want them saying negative things about you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care what they say about me. My only concern is for you. Do you truly understand the consequences of coming out in my circle of society? Your life will never be your own again. If it’s what you want, I’ll support you. I’ll be by your side the whole time. But I want it to be your decision, on your terms.”

“No, Lex.” He started in surprise, then his mouth curled up in a smile as Clark pulled him close and kissed him. “It will be our decision, and our terms.”

“Agreed.” His smile widened. “But not tonight, okay? I want to have fun without dealing with nosy reporters, no offense.” He laughed and dodged Clark’s swat to his ass.

+++

He ran his fingertips across the engraved invitation he received that morning. Most he declined politely, though a few deserved special attention in his fireplace. But this one, he toyed through his fingers, watching the silver etching catch the light. This one was different. Clark was due by later that afternoon, and if he happened to leave it out where the ever-inquisitive Clark would see it, then he could gauge Clark’s reaction to attending. Their decision. Their terms.

He greeted Clark warmly later that day, tossing his lover a bottle of water from the bar before pouring himself a glass of scotch he had no intention of drinking. As if he drew a line to the invitation, Clark walked over to the desk and tilted his head to read the silver lettering.

“Did you just get this?” Clark asked as he held the invitation aloft.

“This morning,” he affirmed, giving up the pretense of nonchalance and walking over to Clark. “Would you like to go?” he asked quietly.

Clark studied the paper intently. “We’ll still be talked about.”

“I’ve been talked about my whole life,” he dismissed. “I only want to know if it’s what you want to do.”

Clark’s soft gaze studied him. “I want to see you in a tux. I want us to be seen together out on a dance floor, with all eyes on us. I want them to know you’re mine.”

A shiver coursed through him at Clark’s words. “And I would love to claim you in public, but I want to make absolutely certain that you’re okay with this. Our lives change if we do this, Clark.”

Clark pulled him into his arms, and Lex’s arms automatically went around Clark’s waist. “I have enough secrets in my life. I don’t want you to be one of them anymore.”

He kissed Clark’s grin, matching it with one of his own. “Clark Kent, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the Concert for GLAAD Benefit next weekend?”

Clark gave a little head tilt. “It would be an honor, sir.”

Laughing, they melted into each other’s kiss.

+++

They talked before the benefit, making sure each was comfortable with what they were willing to discuss and what was ‘no comment’. Lex presented Clark a gift of a fitted tuxedo, with royal purple accessories. Anyone would be a fool to not assume they were together, and Lex secretly loved the color on Clark. He treated himself to a new pair of diamond and silver cufflinks, getting a matching set for Clark on a whim. The salesman raised an eyebrow, but one stern glare and the promise of his commission restrained the man from any further outward distaste.

The balmy fall day turned to an almost chilly night, but with clear skies for the benefit. He and Clark agreed to arrive in the limo along with the other guests, to not draw undue attention. Lex tapped his fingers nervously on the seat of the limo, impatient to get to Clark’s apartment. He didn’t know how the evening would turn out, but anticipation tinged his blood and brought color to his cheeks.

They rolled to a stop at 6:40, a little early, but only a minute passed before Clark came out. Lex’s breath stuttered as Clark slipped in next to him.

“Hey.”

He barely felt Clark’s kiss of greeting. “Hey, yourself,” he replied, mouth suddenly dry. He licked his lips and surveyed the vision before him. Crisp black suit, velvet lapels, purple tie neat around the thick throat, hair almost blue in the streetlights. He leaned over and kissed Clark properly, sucking on the full lips until he was certain they would be red and swollen, the perfect compliment to the outfit.

Breathless, Clark pulled back and flicked his gaze over him. “You look pretty amazing, yourself,” he said, voice deep and husky.

The light in Clark's eyes captivated him. It was promise and hope and love, everything he dared to expect from that night. He blindly reached for a button on the roof. “We’re ready,” he announced to the driver, then shut off the comm.

“I suppose it would be in poor taste to arrive with our clothes half off,” Clark said, Lex catching too much truth in his teasing.

“Yes, it would,” he answered regretfully, running a hand down Clark’s sternum. “Oh, I have something for you.” He retrieved the box and flicked the lid open, revealing the cuffs.

Clark protested mildly. “Lex, you already bought the tux. I can’t accept these.”

“Are you afraid you’ll become a kept man?” Before he could hear Clark’s denial, he continued, voice low, “It can’t happen, because I already belong to you.”

The box flew out of his hand as he was pushed down on the seat, covered by Clark, mouth ravished in the most enjoyable way. He hummed his pleasure, digging fingers deep into Clark’s neatly combed hair, mussing it terribly. His grin slipped to laughter, until he was shaking with it, and Clark climbed off him with a glare.

“What’s so funny?”

He tried to stifle his laughter, but didn’t succeed very well. “So much for being presentable.” He indicated his now wrinkled shirt, and Clark’s hair and askew tie.

They spent the next several minutes trying to smooth out the rough spots, as it were, though nothing could erase their smiles or mask the knowing light in their eyes. Lex retrieved the cufflink box and quickly changed out the ones Clark was wearing. The limo pulled to a stop, and Lex tightened his grip on Clark’s hand.

“Nervous?” Clark asked, and his voice cracked the slightest bit.

“Understandably,” he answered. “You?”

Clark squeezed back reassuringly. “Definitely.”

By fate of traffic, Lex’s door faced the entrance. He took a deep breath and released Clark’s hand. “This is it. Last chance to back out.”

Clark met his gaze squarely. “I’m ready. Are you?”

He raised his head, dredging up old confidence and protocol for these types of events. “Yes,” he answered as the door was opened. Thankfully, or by sheer luck, not a lot of buzzing reporters were around to see his emergence from the limo. The majority of people were inside, as dinner started at seven. With a grin, he turned back to the limo and held out his hand to Clark. Clark was already half-out the door, but smiled and laced his fingers through Lex’s as he stood beside him.

A reporter, not one Lex was familiar with, held a camera up as if in question. “Is it okay if I snap a picture?” she asked.

He looked up at Clark, whose grin could have lit the sky. “Only if we can get a copy,” he replied with a wink. The woman agreed, and they posed on the red carpet. Lex retrieved one of his business cards and handed it over. “You can send it to that address.”

He caught the astonished look on her face as they made their way inside, and couldn’t hold back a snarky grin.

“Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary, a bowl of cream, and all the mice in a five mile radius?” Clark whispered in his ear.

“I don’t think she realized I was serious. The name probably threw her, too,” he whispered back, handing over their invitation and getting directions to their table. Waitstaff were filling glasses and bringing around the appetizers as they slid into their chairs. Introductions were made quickly, Lex not personally knowing anyone at their table. He sensed the same old crowd around him, with the same fake laughter, and felt slightly nauseous. His only consolation was that Clark was with him. He felt a hand rub his thigh, and sent Clark a grateful glance.

Small talk was pleasant through the soup and salad, the conversation steering to business during the main course. Lex found himself actually interested in his tablemates’ answers, and dessert was being served before he knew it. He touched Clark subtly when he could, adjusting his napkin, passing the butter, nothing overtly obvious. He noticed the two women across from him were doing the same thing, judging by the shy smiles they shared. He raised his wine glass in a toast, and the older-looking woman nodded politely in answer. It was always nice to know who your friends were.

The room’s attention shifted to the stage at the far left of the ballroom, where the usual speeches were presented. He kept his hand on Clark’s lower back during the talks, silently thanking him for putting up with the pomp and circumstance. After a half hour, the curtains were drawn back to reveal the band, who began to play. Almost immediately, couples were out on the dance floor, mixed as well as same-sex. Lex felt his foot twitch to the beat, a slow jazzy feel that soaked through his bones.

“Care to dance?”

He blinked up at Clark – when had Clark gotten up? – glanced down at the hand offered, then at the room around them. No one seemed to pay them any special attention, so with a flash of a grin, he slipped his hand into Clark’s and followed his lead. Clark stopped only a few feet onto the floor and turned Lex in his arms, trapping their joined hands against his chest. Lex admired the move, he’d used it himself many times, but he couldn’t make himself relax. Heat burned his face, and he felt as though the entire room was staring at them.

“Lex, no one is looking,” Clark murmured in his ear. “Just feel the music.”

“This feels strange,” he admitted.

“We’ve danced before, Lex,” Clark reminded him. “Last weekend.”

“It’s different,” he insisted. “That was club dancing. This is…intimate.” When he realized what he said, the heat on his cheeks spread down his throat. Clark pulled him in closer, and he found himself ducking his head to Clark’s chest. He would never admit he was hiding, but that’s exactly what he was doing. Clark’s hand rubbed slow circles on his back, and he started to relax, able to return the gesture at the next song. He lifted his head and smiled lazily up at his lover. It was then he noticed the bright spots of color high on Clark’s cheeks. “Clark Kent, are you blushing?”

Clark ducked his head, like he was sixteen again. “No worse than you are,” he muttered.

That statement broke the tension, and Lex laughed and relaxed completely. “Come on, Clark. Let’s show them what dancing is really like.” He didn’t give Clark a chance to protest, just dragged his lover’s body against his as the tempo changed. Clark’s natural grace took over like instinct, and they were moving smoothly, completely in tune with one another. They stayed on the floor through the first set, then dropped, exhausted, back into their chairs. Lex wiped his face with a napkin, laughing quietly.

“Quite a show, Lex,” a sultry and very familiar voice purred.

“It wasn’t for you, Angelique,” he retorted, not losing his smile as he turned to one of his former lovers. She was as beautiful as ever, though her pettiness had always tainted her attractiveness. “May I present my date, Clark Kent.” He nodded to Clark, who glanced from him to Angelique. “Clark, Angelique Marquette.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Clark said amiably, but Lex could sense the jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

Angelique dismissed Clark without a word, and if Lex didn’t like her before, he despised her now. “Ms. Marquette, if you have nothing to say to Clark, then you have nothing to say to me. Good night.” He stood up and forced her to take a step back, out of his way to Clark’s chair. “Clark, I think we should call it a night. The atmosphere in here just became stifling.”

Clark stood up, eyes flickering to Lex’s, but he was unable to read the intent. At least, until Clark cupped his face tenderly and kissed him. His instincts were to deepen the kiss, but he let Clark lead, parting his lips to allow Clark’s tongue to gently trace along his scar. He felt Clark’s shirt bunch in his fists and forced himself to let go, to run a hand to the nape of Clark’s neck. He heard Angelique walk away with a huff and a threat, but he was too engrossed in Clark to care about anything. When Clark finally released him, he stared straight into Clark’s eyes, down as far as he ever dared to look, and whispered, “I love you, Clark. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to say it, but…”

He was swept up in another kiss, this one more demanding and not entirely appropriate for a public scene. He could feel Clark’s erection between them, felt an answering surge in his own body, and pulled back with an audible smack. “We can’t do this here,” he hissed, taking in Clark’s wild-eyed look. “Take off your jacket and fold it over your arm. You can’t walk around like that.”

“So take care of it for me,” Clark murmured, voice dripping with honey and dark secrets and everything that Lex always associated with naked Clark.

He dropped his voice to the barest of whispers. “When we get to the limo, I’m going to go down on you. Suck that cock of yours so far down my throat. Make you beg for it.” The whimper stuck in Clark’s throat answered for him. “Now, slip off your jacket covertly, fold it neatly over your arm, make sure it hides that pup tent you have in your pants, and let’s go.” He narrowed his eyes at Clark until he complied, then quickly dialed Janice and instructed her to meet them out front.

As soon as the jacket was in place, Lex steered them toward the exit. Monica and Lilah, the other couple from their table, stopped them.

“Gentlemen, perhaps you should try a side exit,” Monica, the elder of the two, suggested. “Miss Marquette stormed outside a few minutes ago and informed the press of your…enthusiastic display of affection.”

“Shit,” he hissed.

“It’s okay, Lex,” Clark said, sounding more rational than he should. “We didn’t want to hide anymore. We agreed we wouldn’t let anyone dictate how we should behave.”

He frowned. “Are you sure, Clark? I can call Janice back and have her meet us at any exit in the building.”

Clark finished slipping his coat back on and turned to him. “Then they win.”

Lex saw the determined set of Clark’s jaw, the steely gaze, and nodded sharply. His hand found Clark’s and he laced their fingers together. “Ladies, if you will excuse us, I think we’ll be leaving.”

“Good luck to you,” Lilah murmured as they passed, and Clark grinned in answer.

“What was that about?” Lex hissed as he caught the look between them. Jealousy flared for an instant, distracting him from the entourage outside.

Clark turned the grin on him. “Lilah and I had a class together freshman year.”

“We sat through dinner with her and you didn’t say anything?” he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“It didn’t seem important. We weren’t that close; just two students in the same class. Why, Lex, are you jealous?” Clark teased.

“Damn right I am,” he grumbled, straightening his suit and making sure his tie was in its proper place before he nodded to the doorman. “Let’s get to the limo so I can show you just how much.”

They didn’t hurry out of the building. They almost couldn’t with the camera flashes going off, for fear of tripping down the stairs. They ignored the first few ignorant questions thrown out at them, but Lex stopped when he heard his name being addressed.

“Mr. Luthor, this is your first public appearance since your accident last year. Is this young man the reason for your return to Metropolis society?”

He turned to the woman, startled to find the society reporter for the _Daily Planet_ holding out a tape recorder. “Cat, isn’t it?” he asked, and received a nod in answer. The cluster around them silenced, and nerves fluttered in his stomach. Clark’s hand squeezed his, and he relaxed into a smile. “Well, Cat, I’m sure you recognize my partner, Clark Kent, newly appointed reporter at the _Daily Planet_. While it’s true that Clark is one of the reasons I chose to attend tonight, GLAAD is also an important organization in the struggle for tolerance in our community. We don’t choose who we fall in love with, and if we can overlook racial and social differences, then I don’t see it as a major step to overlook gender. As for Metropolis society…” he smirked. “Whether or not I choose to appear in public has no bearing on my standing. I have found more productive and beneficial uses of my time than rubbing elbows with society’s elite: being true to myself.”

“And would that include rubbing other body parts against your boy toy?” someone sneered, and Lex glared through the crowd, trying to place the voice. Whoever it was would be eviscerated. Clark squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back from his murderous thoughts.

“In showing your ignorance,” Clark began, earning a proud grin from Lex and a murmur from the crowd, “You have defamed the journalistic integrity of every reporter here. The fact that you have to resort to such low measures in the hope of getting a juicy tidbit for a headline, shows an appalling lack of concern for the truth, which is what every journalist strives for.”

The reporter in question stepped forward, and the only thing holding Lex back was Clark’s hand.

“Clark, right? Clark, I noticed you didn’t answer my question. That tells me you have something to hide.” The reporter’s gaze raked over Clark, and Lex found himself taking a step toward his lover, trying to deflect that derogatory look. “Where’d he pick you up? Some street corner? High priced special club?”

The reporter was as slimy as his voice, and Lex very badly wanted to knock him on his ass. But, he and Clark made an agreement. He took a deep breath, then said, “If you cannot tell the difference between a backroom fling and two people honestly in love, then I pity you. Now if you’ll excuse us…” He pushed his way past the offending reporter, Clark in tow, when the woman who took their picture at the start of the evening stopped him. She held out an envelope, and he took it warily. She nodded and vanished into the crowd, thankfully just as the limo pulled up.

Clark crowded him from behind, barely getting the door shut before the limo started moving. Lex righted himself on the seat and growled, “That fucking asshole! I’ll find out who he is and have his tongue removed.”

“Can you have his eyes gouged out, too?” Clark asked, making a face. “I swear, I think he was undressing me.”

Lex made a possessive sound and rounded on Clark, settling himself on his lover’s lap as he devoured the waiting lips. “Not going to happen. He’ll never get near you again. None of them will.” He removed his jacket, assisting Clark with his, then snarled at the tiny buttons of their shirts. His mouth latched onto skin, biting and sucking down the long column of throat. Nipples begged for attention, and he lavished it on first one, then the other, his hands making quick work of Clark’s trousers. “I love you. You’re all mine, Clark Kent,” he muttered against heated flesh, sliding off Clark to kneel on the floor of the limo. Clark’s hips lifted, and Lex dragged the underwear to Clark’s ankles, trapping him like that even as he pushed apart Clark’s knees.

“Lex, what are you doing?” Clark asked, struggling to sit up and focus.

Lex attacked with teeth and tongue, marking the skin of Clark’s abdomen as mewling sounds reached his ears. He stroked the cock, rubbing his thumb over the head and licking his lips. He deep-throated Clark, both hands pushing down on Clark’s hips. He worked his throat muscles and tried to hold Clark steady as he slipped all the way down, nose tickled by the short hairs. Musky, spicy Clark-scent filled him, and he hummed his approval, sending Clark’s hips off the seat again.

”Fuck, Lex, you’re killing me,” Clark groaned as his head thrashed on the back of the seat.

He varied the cadence of his humming while working a hand between Clark’s thighs, teasing his balls and perineum. Hands cradled his head, thrusting erratic, and his name was groaned as Clark came down his throat. He pulled back quickly, gulping in air. Clark looked completely debauched, and he grinned smugly before he was tugged upward for a deep kiss. Clark’s hand on his erection brought back his arousal with sudden fierceness. He arched and thrust up into Clark’s hand, whining when the hand abruptly left him, only to moan as Clark shifted them, legs now flung apart, Clark’s dark head between his thighs. His hands scrabbled for purchase on the seat, finally gripping the edges hard enough to control his thrusts. The suction was inhuman, the tongue a flicker of heat wherever it touched, and he was gone, crying out Clark’s name.

When he returned to his body, Clark was resting atop him, head pillowed on his chest. His fingers were again tangled in the dark locks, and would Clark think it too kinky if he wanted to come in his hair? Sighing happily, he groaned and shifted minutely, enough to disturb Clark’s resting place.

“Have I mentioned today how much I love you?” Clark murmured.

“I believe so,” he answered with a devilish grin. “I know I have.” He yelped as Clark pinched his thigh and struggled to sit up, noticing the envelope on the floor. He picked it up and removed the picture – he and Clark, practically glowing.

“Our first official picture,” Clark said, and he glared over at his lover.

“Don’t get sappy on me, Clark. Though it is nice.” Lex stared at himself, wondering at the happy expression, looking all of sixteen again with the twinkle in his eye. This is what he looked like earlier in the evening. How could everyone not know he was in love? How could anyone not _see_? He traced a thumb over their faces, half expecting the expressions to vanish.

“Now who’s the sappy one,” Clark murmured in his ear, kissing the side of his neck for good measure.

Janice chimed back to them, and with a start, Lex hit the intercom. “Yes?”

“Sir, I thought you’d like to know that it’s flurrying outside.”

He immediately sobered. “Swing by the flower shop,” he ordered, and turned off the comm. He heard Clark call his name, but was too busy redressing to answer him right away. “I have to do something right now, Clark. It won’t take long.”

Hands stilled his movements and forced his head up. “Lex, what is it?”

He tried to avoid Clark’s gaze, but his lover was persistent. He heard his voice almost before he knew he was speaking. “I wasn’t in the house when my mother passed away. I missed my last chance to talk to her, to see her. When I got home, she was already gone. I made a promise that day; to her and myself. On the first snowfall of winter, I would visit her. That’s why you found me at the cemetery that day.” He swallowed nervously. “I’ve never told anyone else.”

Thumbs brushed over his cheeks, and Clark kissed him softly. “I’m honored you trusted me enough to tell me about your mom. But why are we going to the flower shop?”

“I never go empty-handed,” he explained around the lump in his throat. He slipped his arms around Clark, rested his forehead on Clark’s shoulder, and willed himself not to cry. He felt the limo slow down, and pulled himself together as best he could. He opened the door, only to find the shop in darkness. “Shit,” he muttered.

“They’re closed? Isn’t there another shop that might be open?” Clark asked.

He shook his head. “This shop always had lilies, no matter what time of year. I picked it because it had extended hours. But obviously not tonight.” He shut the door and instructed Janice to proceed to the cemetery.

The drive continued in silence, until Clark punched the comm. button and ordered, “Stop. Stop and pull over.”

“Clark?” he questioned, trying to reach Clark’s sleeve as his lover opened the door.

“Go ahead to the cemetery. I’ll meet you there in a bit. Don’t worry,” Clark said as an afterthought, then disappeared in a blur down the street before Lex could say anything.

Alone, Lex slumped down in the seat and waited for the limo to make its last stop. He rubbed his thumb over the picture of he and Clark, finally tucking it into his inside jacket pocket. He climbed out, shivering as the coldness seeped through his tuxedo jacket. This was not in any weather forecast for the night, and he wrapped his arms around his torso to keep out the chill. The streetlamps barely cast a glow this far from the main road, but he would know the path blind. He stood in the same spot as always, feeling as though he let Lillian down by not bringing her flowers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, teeth chattering as the wind picked up.

Soft footfalls approached from behind, but he didn’t turn around. A handful of lilies appeared at his left, and his hand closed over Clark’s as he turned. “How did you…?”

“I picked them up somewhere south of here. I’m afraid some gardener won’t be happy with me in the morning,” Clark explained. “I didn’t think to get a coat; I’m sorry.”

He offered a small smile, took the lilies and placed them in the holder. As he crouched down, he removed the picture, studied it, and rested it against the holder. It was the tangible proof that he’d always wanted; that he had the potential to love and be loved, and his mother would be proud of him for finding the happiness she wanted for him. He stepped back, instinctually finding Clark and leaning into his warmth. The wind blew around them, but he didn’t feel it.

He would have been content to stay there, in their silence and comfort, but Clark’s worried voice asked if he were cold. He wasn’t, but he didn’t want to upset his lover.

He turned in the circle of Clark’s arms and kissed him, feeling the warmth spread through him. “Let’s go home,” he murmured, lacing his chilled fingers through Clark’s as they made their way back to the limo.

The End


End file.
